


The Mettle Of A Man

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: (for now) - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Game Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Military Background, More to Follow - Freeform, My Sole Is No Lawyer, Of Ex-Husbands And Stolen Sons, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sole Survivor Backhand Vega, Spoilers, Suck It Bethesda, The Author Regrets Nothing, Title Is A Pun And I'm Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: Down four members of his squadron, dealing with ferals thick as Lexington and running low on supplies, help comes from down the river.[x-posted to Tumblr]Enjoy!





	1. ArcJet

Paladin Danse, focused on not being overwhelmed by the feral ghouls clawing at his Power Armor, barely even registered when a blast from a shotgun sounded off on his left. The next shot was closer, and he chanced a look to the side.

  


An individual in battered combat armor slid their arm into the flaming barrel across the way and tugged out a fiery branch, then bolted in front of the Paladin. Danse understood the plan even without words, firing on the panicked ghouls as the person slammed the makeshift torch left and right into the ferals. The fight was over in minutes, the individual laughing breathlessly as the last ghoul collapsed into ash at their feet.

  


They turned around and flat-out stared up at Paladin Danse, who fought the urge to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny of her pale blue gaze. It was a woman, maybe in her late twenties, with glasses thick enough to make Proctor Quinlan jealous. Faded white scars patchworked her forehead and chin on the left side of her face. It looked like she’d been burned, or possibly frozen, though cryo mines and grenades were rare in the Commonwealth. She rapidly undid the straps on her helmet and popped it off her head, tucking it beneath her arm. Cradling her gun in the crook of the same arm, she extended her free hand to Danse.

  


“You are the _tallest_ son of a bitch I’ve ever seen.” She said by way of greeting.

  


Danse bit back a smile, schooling his face into its usual stern expression as he carefully shook the small hand with his massive Power-Armored one. “Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel.”

  


“Backhand. Pleased to meet you, sir. Looks like your girlfriend is safe but your buddy is in a world of hurt.” The woman said frankly, sidestepping Danse and heading for Knight Rhys and Scribe Haylen. “Ho there kids, what happened?”

  


“Stand down civilian. We appreciate the help, but what is your business here?” Danse asked warily, shifting to get between the woman and his team.

  


Backhand tapped the hunk of metal strapped to her arm. “Picked up your beacon from Graygarden, across the river. Figured I’d come see whether any of you were still kicking. Lo and behold, here you are!” She dropped her pack next to Rhys and began digging through it, ignoring the man’s groan that seemed more irritation than pain.

  


“Graygarden? I have a few reports on that…some kind of hydroponics facility run by robots?” Haylen’s tone was uncertain, cutting her eyes over at Danse as Backhand tipped four Stimpacks into the Scribe’s still-shaking hands. Danse nodded in a ‘go-ahead’ gesture. They could use the Stims no matter what, and Backhand (while somewhat _brazen_ ) seemed like a decent individual. He would reserve judgment for the time being.

  


“I’ve got a fair amount of salvage and supplies back at my BOA.” Backhand continued, hooking a thumb over her shoulder to gesture toward the river. “Whatever you guys need, I’ve probably got. Aside from human companionship, of course. Remember: robots.” She knelt beside Haylen, digging deeper in her pack. “I wasn’t sure what I was walking into, I brought food and some other stuff.”

  


“Hold it, civilian. While we appreciate your generosity, the Brotherhood is not in the habit of compensating-”

  


“Tin Man, don’t make me laugh. I’m _talking_ with the lady.” Backhand narrowed her eyes up at the Paladin, her expression fierce. “I’m answering a distress call, yeah? Obviously I am here to _help_. If I was here for personal gain I feel like you would already be eaten by ferals. _Don’t_ insult me.”

  


Paladin Danse couldn’t recall the last time he’d been rendered speechless. Haylen looked a little awestruck, finally stammering, “M-Ma’am, the Paladin is…I mean, we’re used to people helping the Brotherhood in exchange for something. A-Are you sure _you_ don’t need these supplies?”

  


“Positive. You’re welcome to them.” Backhand looked sad for a second. “I tend to scavenge a lot and use a little, so I try to help out where I can.”

  


“Where do you come from originally? I assume Graygarden wasn’t always your base of operations?” Haylen questioned. Danse was proud of his Scribe, always doing her best to collect information. Even while he was busy remembering how to talk.

  


“I’m from Sanctuary Hills. Close to Concord.” Backhand replied, a couple cans of Cram tumbling out of her pack to clatter noisily down the stairs. “Whoops, hang on, get back here!” She shooed Haylen towards her pack. “Just look around and take what you need, I gotta’…grab these stupid cans.”

  


Danse scooped up two of the wayward rectangular cans before they could go any further. Backhand raised an eyebrow at him and he braced himself for whatever would come out of her mouth next.

  


“Friends of yours?” She asked, nodding towards the cans.

  


Danse heard Haylen snort once, trying to stifle her giggle. In spite of himself, he felt a smile tugging on the side of his mouth. He assumed it was more from relief than actually finding the joke funny. If the Scribe could appreciate humor that meant that Knight Rhys probably wasn’t as bad off as he’d feared. He would be damned if he lost another member of their squadron. “Try to keep track of them next time. If you _can_.” Danse attempted at a joke of his own as he passed the cans back, but all Backhand did was roll her eyes and groan.

  


…

  


“So this is ArcJet Systems, huh?” Backhand tipped her helmet out of her eyes. “It’s weird, the shit I don’t remember being here.”

  


“Civilian, we’re not here for a trip down memory lane.” Danse was still having a difficult time wrapping his head around the fact that this woman had been _frozen_ for two hundred years. He wasn’t really sure if he believed her, honestly. But he’d heard about Vault-Tec’s unscrupulous operations before. Haylen occasionally read them information akin to ghost stories, about Vaults filled with clones or sentient plants.

  


“Understood, sir.”

  


His eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he thanked God for his helmet. She was in the field now, he supposed, all business. She _had_ mentioned a military background. “I’ll take point. Try not to lag behind.”

  


“Yes sir!” Her salute was rigid, pre-war. Like her helmet, scraped and covered in faded sigils. He wondered briefly if she’d fought in the legendary Anchorage battle. “Permission to speak freely before we enter, sir?”

  


“Granted Initi-uh, civilian.” Danse corrected himself, swearing inwardly at his slip-up.

  


“What _am_ I supposed to call you while we’re on maneuvers, sir?”

  


“Paladin is fine. Or sir, like you have been. It’s irrelevant, civilian. You’re being respectful and I’m not exactly going to get loud with you for not referring to me by rank, seeing as how you’re not Brotherhood.” Danse was pleasantly surprised when she saluted again to acknowledge his words.

  


“Yes sir, Paladin sir!”

  


She followed him without another word, her shotgun slung around her back in favor of a small revolver-style pipe pistol. Danse could understand that, shotgun shells were probably much more scarce when it came to scavenging for ammo. Better to sweep with a lighter weapon and have the heavier one to fall back on if the jitters proved accurate.

  


Danse was not particularly _quiet_ when it came to his sweeps, though that may be more a fault of the Power Armor than his own lack of grace. He trundled along through room after room, his headlamp swinging back and forth while he cleared the area. He had to look back more than once to make sure Backhand was still there, her own footsteps nearly silent. “Maybe you ought to take point, civilian. At least then I’d be able to keep track of you.” He finally suggested, and she put a finger to her lips.

  


_Can’t you hear them?_ She mouthed.

  


Danse instantly came to a full stop, tilting his head. Audio receptors in his helmet were coming up clear. He settled for muting his helmet mic and giving her a shrug, confused but wary. She tipped her Pip Boy over towards him, pointing at the compass on the top. She dragged her finger across the projected display and Danse’s eyes widened as the area practically _lit up_ with red ticks while she circled the compass. So they were surrounded, then. _Very_ surrounded. _How_ had that happened? Why was nothing showing up on his own compass?

  


Well, it didn’t really matter. Danse straightened back up, squaring his shoulders with a clatter of steel. He pointed towards Backhand, then the doorway, indicating that she should creep forward. She did, crouching by the doorframe and suddenly vanishing. Danse wanted to jump at the abrupt disappearance but he reined himself in. She had probably just used a Stealth Boy or something to that effect.

  


He stood there silently for what felt like years, running through a mental checklist of his armor and laser rifle readiness. Finally, there was a soft _clank_ against his leg and he looked down to see a coffee mug floating in midair. He felt her scramble up his side to grip his arm, the pistons of his Power Armor easily accepting her weight. Something pushed against his helmet.

  


“There’s maybe ten of them.” She whispered, her voice barely audible to his helmet’s receptors. “Might be more in stealth. Not sure.”

  


Danse nodded to indicate that he’d heard her and her weight slipped back off. Her stealth field shimmered for a second before stabilizing again. Danse took a deep breath, thinking hard. He really only had one option, but if he was swarmed and they knocked him over he was screwed. So he would need to be careful. _Obviously_.

  


He pointed at himself, pointed to the door, and then pointed at her and made a gesture like he was throwing something over his shoulder. _Stay behind me_. Hopefully with her in stealth she would be able to cover his back safely until they had whittled down the ranks a bit. He felt a twinge of remorse at the fact that he was putting a civilian in danger, but he quickly pushed it aside. She had offered to help, he hadn’t exactly twisted her arm.

  


The coffee cup tapped against his arm once, he assumed that was her agreeing. He still watched the small object until it was out of his peripheral.

  


…

  


Paladin Danse seemed very much the stereotypical, gung-ho kind of soldier. Despite that though, he _had_ reached a lofty-sounding rank (Backhand had no clue what the heck _Paladin_ equaled out to in layman’s terms, but she guessed it was a pretty senior position). Maybe he was a brilliant tactician, or someone who always got his men out safe and sound. Or-

  


Danse clicked off the safety on his rifle, and there was the static-y noise of helmet speakers cuing up. “For the Brotherhood!” The Paladin roared, his volume deafening.

  


_Or maybe he’s a lucky fucking idiot_. Backhand groaned under her breath, crouching behind Danse and using his large form as cover so she could line up her V.A.T.S. shots properly. The air was alight with blue lasers, ozone-reek thick in her mouth and nose. Her stealth mods held up under the stress and she patted herself on the back, more than a little proud. _Not bad for a two hundred year old relic_.

  


Danse’s laser rifle cracked imposingly overhead, the noise drowning out the Institute’s sleek, clicking ordinance. His curt “ _Tango down!_ ” announcements began to blur together to Backhand as the Synths just kept coming. There were way more than she’d originally thought, it seemed. It was like they were materializing on site. But the Paladin stood firm, essentially blocking the doorway they had come in through as he mowed down the hordes methodically.

  


It was becoming more and more difficult to get shots off, the accumulation of debris at Danse’s feet starting to obstruct Backhand’s V.A.T.S. targeting. So she stood up, her stealth mods deactivating as she thrust her shotgun through the triangular hole made by Danse’s elbow and pumped a round into the chest of a cloaked Synth that had been attempting to flank them. The Paladin started at the loud report, taking a step to one side and yanking the gun out of her hands accidentally.

  


Another Synth lunged forward, already missing one arm and carrying a baton that zapped and sparked in the haze of the room. The Paladin, upon stepping aside, offered the machine the perfect swing at Backhand. In the face of the almost certain jolt she was about to get, Backhand grimaced.

  


Danse’s large arm was suddenly knocking into her and she instinctively ducked, tripping up the Synth and snapping one of its brittle legs off. It still landed on top of her, the baton impacting the floor beside her head with an explosion of sparks as she struggled. Backhand wound up for a swing, the sheet metal plating on her gloves making a satisfying _crunch_ when she slammed the Synth in the jaw and punched straight through its head. “Nice try, you son of a bitch.” She growled.

  


Time slid oddly sideways for her as Danse yelled, “ _on your feet, soldier!_ ”, a huge hand on her arm, all too reminiscent of-

  


_-the hail of gunfire, the rattle and stench of poorly-greased Power Armor. Sergeant Cathan pulled her upright again,_ ‘on your feet, soldier!’, _his helmet was gone, Jesus Christ, they had been out here for weeks with no sign of relief. Her minigun felt so heavy in her arms, her eyes threatening to close every time she stopped moving. But she had to go, there were still wounded trapped in the collapsed bunker. Her Power Armor shrieked when she moved, announcing her presence with the rough grind of worn bearings-_

  


“Civilian!” Danse’s gauntlet was firmly gripping the straps on the front of her armor, the light attached to his helmet blinding her.

  


“Sir!” Backhand fumbled to salute on reflex and he quickly released her.

  


“You left for a minute there, civilian.” His voice held quiet disapproval.

  


“Apologies, sir. Battlefields blend, and it’s been a while since anyone’s called me soldier. Won’t happen again.” She promised.

  


…

  


“I apologize for my slip as well, civilian. Old habits die hard.” A blue streak hissed over Danse’s arm and he grunted in irritation. “ _Still?_ Your mistake, you _abomination_.” He stormed towards the lone Synth’s hiding place, swatted the rifle out of its hands and crushed its torso with one massive metal foot. It was still wriggling, like a spider that had lost a leg, so Danse decided to be merciful and blew its head off.

  


The square barrel of his laser rifle was red-hot from the firefight, steaming in the chillier air of the room. Danse took a second to collect himself, sweeping the room for ammunition and listening intently to make sure nothing else was forthcoming. Everything seemed quiet and he heaved a slow breath. “Were you injured, civilian?”

  


“No sir. And you?”

  


“I’m fine, thanks to you.” Danse hadn’t even _seen_ that Synth on his left until it was too late, but her quick shotgun work had bought him a second to recover. “Well done, civilian.”

  


“Thank you, sir.” She practically _glowed_ at the praise and he caught himself wondering what rank she had been in the army, what she’d had to do. She cleared her throat after a second, looking down to examine her pistol. “Where to now, sir?”

  


“We continue forward. I’ll stay on point, maintain the front defenses. Keep close and watch our six.” Danse ordered, flexing his fingers experimentally in their gauntlets and feeling pleased when all the joints moved smoothly. He’d had problems of late with the right index sticking oddly. “We know they’re in here now. If anything, they’ve lost their element of surprise. It… _complicates_ things, but this definitely isn’t a hopeless situation by any stretch. And if we need to fall back, then we fall back.”

  


“Yes sir.” She obviously wanted to ask something else, but hesitated. Danse couldn’t really spare the time to wait, every second they wasted here was another second they were without Brotherhood support. So he turned and headed across the room, safety remaining off on his weapon now.

  


_They know we’re here too_.

  


The stairs to go up were too destroyed to continue, and so the Paladin headed further down. There was an elevator. On the slim chance that they might be able to get power running to it again, that was their best option to reach the deep range transmitter. “Civilian, scout the maintenance area off to the side. I’ll remain here and watch our backs.”

  


Once she had left he circled the area he was in. Above his head was what appeared to be a huge rocket, dusty with disuse. The floor beneath him was blackened, indicating that Haylen’s research had been correct. ArcJet Systems _had_ been making another project, the Mars Shot, along with the deep range transmitter. No doubt just one more case of mankind overreaching their capabilities.

  


His brow furrowed. _Why were pre-war men so greedy?_ Danse had decided ages ago that if he had to read one more two hundred year old terminal entry about how “ _we tried_ ” or some other documentation of a large company exploiting people’s suffering and pocketing the resulting profits, he would probably vomit in his helmet.

  


There was an odd blue flash to his right and Danse turned, swearing at himself for his inattention as he watched Synths drop from the stairs overhead. A horde of plastic rifles aimed for the giant target that was the Paladin, unblinking yellow eyes focused on him. It was like something out of a nightmare. For every one he shot down there were two more to take its place, the swarm he’d been so worried about happening now an almost-certain reality.

  


The large metal blast doors the civilian had gone through abruptly closed with a loud bang. The Paladin jerked at the noise, glancing over at the window of the maintenance area. There was the civilian, standing next to a control panel and looking decidedly panicky. Danse had no idea what the facility was capable of, but he knew a button existed _somewhere_ to fire the rocket that hung over his head. So he did what he had to do.

  


“Don’t just stand there, soldier, push a button! Push everything!” He shouted, clubbing a Synth in the head with the butt of his rifle.

  


…

  


She stood frozen beside the control panel, staring at the giant red button while a robotic voice overhead informed her that the rocket was ‘ _primed and standing by for your command_.’ She had no idea what Power Armor Danse was wearing, no way of knowing whether it could withstand the doubtless intense heat of the _literal rocket_ over his head.

  


He yelled at her through the window as he was forced back to the wall, his laser rifle slicing through Synths as fast as he could pull the trigger. “ _Don’t just stand there, soldier, push a button! Push everything!_ ” He sounded desperate and his voice urged her forward, spurring her to action.

  


She hammered her fist down on the blinking red button and was horrified to hear the robotic voice announce that there was a five second countdown. “Paladin!” She hollered, banging her hands on the window to attract his attention. “Five seconds!” She mouthed the words as clearly as possible, unsure of how thick the window was.

  


“Affirmative, civilian! Maintain your position!” Danse said firmly. “If this doesn’t work, the deep range transmitter is a secondary concern! You’ll need to fall back and return to the Scribe and Knight, understood? You’re their only hope if this fails!”

  


“Yes _sir!_ ” She replied loudly, her stomach twisting at the thought of being the sole survivor for yet another time in her life.

  


“Ad Victoriam, civilian!”

  


The Latin was unfamiliar to her, but she could gather it was something about victory so she responded in kind. “Gloria Fortis Miles, Paladin!”

  


- _Sergeant Cathan’s easy smile warmed her stiff limbs into cooperating, the grizzled old man easily crushing the cement that separated them._ “Listen Handy, we can’t keep meeting like this! My superiors are gonna’ talk!” _'Backhand’ Vega, given her distinctive nickname ages ago after a brawl in boot camp, moved to the side, displaying the survivors she’d curled her body around protectively when another section of the bunker had given way. The sergeant whistled, seeming impressed._ “Shit, alright then. I’ll cover you, kid!” _She had no idea how many of the bodies she carried out were still breathing_ -

  


The rocket roared to life and she closed her eyes, unable to watch.

  


…

  


Danse was thankful he’d had the presence of mind to turn off his audio receptors because the rocket was _deafening_ , even through his thick helmet. The temperature in his armor shot up rapidly, danger indicators blaring as he dropped to one knee under the pressure. It was no good, he was already against the wall. He got a grim sense of satisfaction from watching the Synths melt and turn to ash around him under the intense heat. He wasn’t sure whether his Power Armor would hold up for much longer, he’d never really attempted to _incinerate_ himself via booster fire before.

  


_Hopefully the civilian can get to Haylen and Rhys, let them know what happened to me_.

  


He realized he was probably going to die, and he gritted his teeth tightly against the trembling of his jaw. His ears were ringing and his muscles started to twitch, the heat almost unbearable. But just as suddenly as it had risen, the temperature plummeted back to a reasonable level. His Power Armor began hissing, venting the molten air through the armpits and back seal of the gear.

  


He hadn’t noticed the civilian standing in front of him until his helmet was jerked over his head and chucked aside. He sucked in a gasp, coughing hard. Her mouth was moving but he could barely hear what she was saying. His name and rank, maybe. He settled for shaking his head and she unclipped the canteen at her waist, soaking a bandanna from her pocket and proceeding to pat over his aching dry eyes with the lukewarm water. Danse just sat silently, popping his jaw and willing his ears to cooperate.

  


She carefully dribbled a little water into his mouth and Danse obediently swished it with his tongue before swallowing. The ringing slowly petered out while she briskly shone a small flashlight into his eyes, one after the other just like Cade. “Can you hear me, Paladin?” She asked loudly, holding up two fingers. “How many fingers?”

  


“Two.” Danse rasped.

  


Her shoulders drooped with what seemed to be relief. “Thank _fuck_. Let’s never do that again, deal?” Backhand said bluntly, brushing her hands off.

  


“Deal.” Danse grunted, grabbing a handful of crumbling wall as he tried to stand. “Too much excitement for me. I’ve dealt with some wild things, but this might have just taken the cake.”

  


“Are you blistered in there at all?” She asked worriedly. He noticed her eyes examining the exposed area of his neck. “I thought you were boiled like a frickin’ lobstah.”

  


Her accent thickening seemed to break the tension and Danse chuckled with a shake of his head. “I don’t think so, civilian. Won’t be taking this off for a while if I am, I guess.” He finally managed to get fully to his feet, dusting off his gauntlets. “I’ll really be a Tin Man then, won’t I?” Her eyes went wide and her mouth rounded into an ‘o’ as she realized he had made a joke. Before she could regain her footing Danse quickly said, “We should keep moving. You were able to reroute the power?”

  


“Y-Yeah, there was a terminal. Elevator should be functional…uh, sir.” She tacked on at the end. Danse, as was his overly-fidgety custom, flipped his helmet before donning it yet again.

  


True to her word, the elevator did appear operational. The call button now flickered weakly in the gloom of the room and Danse carefully pushed it, summoning the elevator from the upper level. “Remain vigilant.” He said quietly as there was the whine of rusted cables from within the shaft. “I’m unsure of what they might throw at us next. The Institute probably has use for the deep range transmitter as well, which explains their presence here.”

  


“Understood, sir.” Backhand saluted. “They won’t catch us off guard again. Is uh…is the elevator going to be able to support you?” She asked haltingly as the doors slid open. “I mean, your Power Armor and all?”

  


“I imagine we’ll find out in a minute.” Danse cautiously put one foot into the elevator, then the other. The box creaked but held firm and he exhaled, surprised, when Backhand squeezed in beside him. “Civilian, it may not-”

  


“All due respect sir, I’m not taking the chance of getting stuck down in the pit.” She grumbled. “I’m with you. Death via elevator collapse ain’t the worst thing I’ve come across.”

  


“…outstanding.” It came out much more wry than he’d intended and Backhand snickered, fingers deftly moving over her own equipment. She seemed ready, a little more at ease.

  


Her Pip Boy lit up and she went silent, scrolling the compass around again. A few red dots peppered the display and she grimaced, looking up at Danse with a worried expression.

  


He simply nodded, doing his best to keep still so he wouldn’t unsettle the elevator. The place had been _crawling_ with Synths so far, a couple more wasn’t surprising. He mused on why his own scanner wasn’t picking them up. He _sincerely_ doubted that soup can she had strapped to her wrist outmatched Brotherhood technology. Danse resolved to ask her once this business was taken care of.

  


The elevator ‘ _ding_ ’ed, doors slowly grinding open. Danse swept the scaffolding-like staircase, and then carefully stepped out of the elevator. There was a loud ‘ _snap!_ ’ behind him and he whirled, dropping his rifle and only _just_ catching the top edge of the elevator before it careened back to the ground floor. “Civilian!” The elevator cables had torn under the stress, he could see the loose ends swinging back and forth over the top of the box.

  


His shoulders screamed in protest, gears in the joints of his armor clicking wildly, but he maintained his grip on the lip of the elevator. Backhand silently pulled herself up through the hatch in the roof of the box, holding her shotgun to her chest. Danse ducked his head and she managed to slide out over him, hitting the scaffolding with a rattle of combat armor.

  


The Paladin’s gauntlets suddenly tore through the roof of the box, ripping two healthy chunks free while the elevator plummeted to the floor below. Danse panted for breath, resting his hands on his knees for a second. The muffled crash and puff of dust from the impact made him flinch. His heart was slamming a mile a minute in his chest, the surge of adrenaline making his fingertips tingle wildly.

  


“Holy shit.” Her weak voice snapped him upright again and Danse turned to find her crumpled against the railing. Her shotgun was cradled in her lap and her eyes were shut tightly.

  


“Civilian?” He asked cautiously.

  


“Your armor is gonna’ need a _hell_ of a greasing after this, sir.” She got to her feet slowly, passing him his laser rifle with shaky hands. “And yes, that is me volunteering to do it for you.” She kissed her fingertips and then pressed them to his helmet.

  


Danse stared at her, bewildered.

  


“You saved my _ass_ , so I’ll grease your _Power Armor_. Understand, Paladin?” She raised an eyebrow. “Do you guys not do a favor system in the Brotherhood? That method was the only thing that kept my squadron under control.”

  


“No no, we do. It’s just that…well, a soldier is responsible for their own gear, civilian. Favors in the Brotherhood are normally repaid in the exchange of material goods. Like whiskey or extra dessert rations from the canteen, that kind of thing.” Danse hadn’t meant to be so _free_ with the information, essentially admitting his vices. Truthfully, he was still more than a bit discombobulated about her indirectly _kissing_ his helmet. “I don’t know how well Elder Maxson would take to Knights shining each others boots or maintaining someone else’s Power Armor.”

  


“How much whiskey d’ya’ think is enough for my life, sir?”

  


Danse huffed, a little perturbed. “I _hardly_ think that right now is the appropriate time to be meting out your worth in fluid ounces, civilian. We need to focus on our mission.”

  


“Understood, sir. Later.” She settled her helmet a little more firmly on her head. “There looks like five of them up ahead. But hell, we know that can change.”

  


…

  


She was nervous when she peered into the next room, her pistol at the ready. One Synth was clattering away at a terminal, the rest of the group were going through all the filing cabinets and old boxes scattered around the room. Metal limbs half-covered in dingy yellowed plastic, spindly fingers digging and clawing at the junk in search of the deep range transmitter.

  


Backhand drew a steadying breath. She wished more than anything that Synths weren’t so _unnerving_ with their almost-human appearance. Behind her, she heard the sound of a safety clicking off. The noise made the Synth at the terminal look up, wide yellow eyes aimed in her direction. “Hello?” The machine called in a curious tone, raising its rifle.

  


The Paladin stormed the room with a shout of “ _Synth scum!_ ”, and between the two of them it was hardly a fight. They both paused after the last body fell, Danse facing one way and Backhand the other. Her eyes were glued to her Pip Boy compass, waiting for another ambush.

  


Thirty seconds passed. A minute.

  


Danse finally shifted his weight back, his severe posture easing into a less ready stance. “I think we’re safe.” He whispered, grunting as he fumbled to get his helmet off. “We need to find that transmitter, civilian.”

  


Backhand nodded, turning one of the Synths over and popping open its chest cavity. Danse followed her lead, albeit a bit more clumsy due to his large gauntlets. The first and second Synths came up empty, but when Backhand cracked open the third she grinned. “Bingo!” She exclaimed, dragging the loose object out of the Synth’s body.

  


“ _Outstanding_ , civilian. Now, according to Scribe Haylen’s intel, that door is a service elevator to the surface.” Danse pointed across the room and Backhand swallowed hard.

  


“Uh…another elevator?” She asked warily.

  


The Paladin, to his credit, looked a little green himself. “I’ll send you up first, civilian.” He offered, pressing the button.

  


Backhand steeled her nerves, although once the elevator _did_ arrive she quickly opened the emergency hatch on the top of it. Danse obviously chose not to comment and she was grateful for that, unsure if she could handle another mishap like earlier.

  


This ride, however, was much less exciting than her last one. Backhand turned the transmitter over in her hands as she waited for Danse to come up, marveling at the buttons on the thing. She knew better than to _press_ any of them, of course, but she still looked.

  


Once Paladin Danse emerged from the elevator (a little faster than he had before), he led the way outside via battering the door until it gave with a shriek of abused metal. Backhand was startled to find that it was night now, and raining gently.

  


Danse at least seemed to be in decent spirits, accepting the deep range transmitter from her when she quickly handed it over. The Commonwealth was full of suspicious people and Backhand had no desire to be facing the business end of that deadly laser rifle, Brotherhood or no.  “Well that could have gone smoother. Mission accomplished, regardless.” The Paladin said gruffly.

  


“'Smoother’?” Backhand tilted her head up at him. “I hope I didn’t cause any problems for you, Paladin?”

  


“It’s got nothing to do with you, civilian. This was a last-gasp op and unfortunately it was planned as such. We were caught off-guard one too many times. But we’re both alive and we have the transmitter, so I would say this is a success.” Danse’s smile took her by surprise. “On the contrary, your extra manpower gave us the advantage in a few locations. You have my thanks.” He shifted, seeming almost nervous. “I don’t…have much in the way of caps, but I’d like to compensate you for your services. I…I’ve modified this rifle myself, I hope it serves you well.”

  


The next thing Backhand knew, that deadly laser rifle she’d been so concerned about was being carefully pressed into her hands. “Oh!” Her breath caught in her throat at the heft of it, it was a _beautiful_ gun. _But…_ “Paladin, I can’t possibly accept this.” She protested. “I can’t take your rifle, how will you defend yourself? Or Scribe Haylen and…um.” For some reason, the sour man’s rank escaped her.

  


“Knight Rhys.” Danse filled in gently. She nodded, feeling dumb for forgetting. “A Brotherhood soldier is always prepared, civilian. I have a spare weapon. Please, I insist you keep it.”

  


“Are you sure?” Backhand asked, even as her fingers smoothed longingly over the square barrel of the gun.

  


Danse nodded. “If anything you should be able to sell it for a decent amount of caps, due to the modifications I’ve made.”

  


“I’m not _selling_ this, are you crazy? Look at it, s’beautiful!” Backhand sputtered indignantly, shocked when Danse began _laughing_.

  


…

  


He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. His whole recon tour had been an absolute cluster from the start, there hadn’t been much time for levity. But the civilian looked so irate with him for suggesting that she part with his rifle…Danse couldn’t have helped it if he’d wanted to.

  


“Sell it or use it, it’s yours to do with as you see fit, civilian.” He said finally once he’d gotten himself back under control.

  


“I’ve got some cells in my pack, I can’t wait to give this thing a shot!” She sounded incredibly excited and the Paladin’s stomach felt strange while he watched her hug the rifle to her chest.

  


“Let’s get back to the police station, you can dismiss those Handy bots back to Graygarden and I’ll work on integrating the transmitter to boost my team’s distress signal. With a little luck I’ll get a response.” Danse put his helmet back on and set out into the rain, hearing her feet sloshing loudly through the puddles behind him.

  


“Hey, you know I wasn’t joking about greasing your Power Armor, right?” Backhand called, making Danse pause.

  


“Civilian, I-”

  


“You can’t say no! I refuse to believe that two hundred years have changed the design of Power Armor to the point where it makes greasing it less of a damn chore. I remember.” She squinted up at him from beneath her helmet, rain speckling her thick glasses. “I got _real_ good at it, sir.”

  


Danse chewed his lower lip. If Maxson caught wind of this there would be absolute _hell_ to pay, but… “You don’t have to, civilian.”

  


“I know that, sir.”

  


And that was how Paladin Logan Danse, pride of the Brotherhood, ended up sitting in an old police station with a pile of wires in his lap, clad in a slightly too-snug Vault suit while an ex-military civilian gave his Power Armor a once over. His uniform had melted to the inside of his Power Armor in a few places, forcing him to essentially work himself free if he wanted to exit his gear. Backhand had dug through her pack and tossed him a crisp Vault suit still in its original plastic wrap, labeled _XL_.

  


“I wear a large, but I figured I could keep a bigger one on hand just in case.” She shrugged, unzipping her own suit to her midriff and tying the sleeves around her waist. “Pop out your core before you go, I don’t want you worrying about me taking your stuff.”

  


Danse was grateful that she wasn’t insulted by his suspicion, a little _too_ eager to work on the transmitter to be worried about that. He locked the fusion core in a toolbox behind the counter and then got down to business. Admittedly, Haylen was miles better at this sort of thing but he was far from helpless. Besides, after everything that had transpired on this tour…

  


Well, his Scribe could use a break. If she got to take it with Rhys, all the better. Danse didn’t fancy himself a matchmaker by any stretch of the imagination, but he _was_ observant when it came to his team. He had noticed Haylen’s care for Rhys early on, and while he knew he _technically_ shouldn’t be encouraging them, he had faith that if push came to shove they could keep their relationship professional while on-duty. They were both model soldiers, despite Rhys’ occasional moody bouts.

  


Backhand singing something quietly drew him out of his staring contest with the transmitter and he looked up, observing her work for a minute. She had locked the joints in the shoulders and chest area of the frame, humming intermittently as she hung sideways from the arm and greased the right elbow.

  


“My old PA set wasn’t nearly as shiny as yours. Was the T-51B set.” She glanced over and caught Danse watching, much to his chagrin. “It was a hand-me-down and _God_ did it move like one. The left knee actually caved in at one point, gave me a badass scar.” She rolled up the leg of her Vault suit, proudly tapping the old mark. “I didn’t stop kneeing tanks, even after that. I’m a stubborn shit.” She paused. “I miss it. The untouchable feeling that only Power Armor seems to give. I mean, that and a Fat Man launcher or a minigun. Either of those? I was _unstoppable_.” She smiled wistfully, patting the freshly-greased elbow.

  


The gears in Danse’s mind started turning. She had Power Armor training, albeit outdated. She could follow orders. She kept herself together under the pressure of being mobbed. She was a decent shot. _Maybe…_ “I’d like to make you a proposal, civilian.” He said slowly, waiting until she made eye contact again before continuing. “Our op could have ended in disaster, but you kept your cool and handled it like a soldier. The way I see it, you’ve got a choice in front of you.”

  


“What?” She stared at him blankly, wiping her hands off on a rag. “What do you mean?”

  


“What I _mean_ is that you should seriously think about joining the Brotherhood of Steel. You’re already combat-ready, I have no doubt you’re on an Aspirant level as-is. With enough training and discipline, there’s no telling what you could accomplish. If you’ll consider it, I’d like to offer you the rank of Initiate in Recon Squad Gladius.” Danse pitched the notion, wondering if she would accept.

  


She chuckled dryly. “Paladin, you want to know why I joined the Army in the first place?”

  


This didn’t sound promising, but Danse nodded all the same.

  


“College was expensive and the military paid for it. That, and pretty much everyone I knew was signing up as well.” She shrugged. “It was the thing to do at the time. I was honorably discharged, hell, I’m a _veteran_. At twenty-eight years old, I had done three combat tours and a bunch of other bullshit. It was surreal.”

  


“There’s no pressure, you understand.” Danse murmured, understanding what she was getting at. “This isn’t a coercion or anything of that nature. I’ve read about the incentives the military used to dangle to get young people to enlist. The Brotherhood…all we really offer is a suit of Power Armor, weaponry and a multitude of individuals ready to impart knowledge.” He continued, “You would be under my command, at least in the beginning, and I’d expect you to follow orders. But you’ve displayed more than enough respect for my rank today alone, civilian. I don’t doubt that you’ve got what it takes.”

  


She worried her lip, the motion catching and holding Danse’s attention. He wanted to brush her lower lip with his thumb, make her stop chewing, _put his mouth on hers_. He caught himself leaning forward _just_ in time, quickly looking back down at the transmitter. His stomach felt odd again, twisting itself into knots. “Paladin Danse?” She asked softly.

  


“Yes, Backhand?” He answered, doing his damnedest to be polite and ignore the strange sensation.

  


“It’s alright if you want to kiss me, you know.” Her smile was gentle. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  


“Civilian that’s _hardly_ rel-” Danse’s words were halted when she tilted his chin up and kissed him. “-evant.” He finished breathlessly, gripping the edge of the counter. “I--um.”

  


“It’s alright.” She repeated, still just as soft. _Whatever_ it was that held the Paladin back frayed. It had been ages since he’d so much as kissed someone, even longer for… _other_ things. He groaned in his throat, hands hovering over her shoulders for a minute before he dropped them to his sides.

  


“I…civilian, I can’t just-” He started to explain, started to put some distance between them before he did something _idiotic_. But she walked around the counter and stood toe-to-toe with him, almost tall enough to look him in the eye when he was out of his Power Armor.

  


“I know how it is.” Was all she said, her fingers mapping his shoulders lightly. She wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding. Just letting him know that she understood, soldier to soldier. _That_ was what tested his self-control, he told himself later. That was why he kissed her back. Not the feeling of another body against his own after there had been nothing for _years_. Not the notion that she might be just as lonely as he was.

  


It was simple camaraderie, soldiers blowing off steam after a life-threatening event.

  


_Except I would never do this with Haylen or Rhys._

  


His head was full of nonsensical thoughts for the rest of the night, absolutely running wild once he bedded down. The feeling of her mouth on his, her hands on his shoulders...Danse's shudder had nothing to do with the Commonwealth chill in the air.

  


_He would pick her up around the waist and set her on the counter, untying the sleeves of her Vault suit and sliding the zipper down further._ “Do you want this?” _He would finally ask, his voice sounding hoarse in his ears. She would nod rapidly, raising her hips so he could peel the suit off her body and leave her in her underclothes._ “Are you absolutely certain? I won’t be offended if you decide otherwise.” _Even in his silly fantasies he wanted to still give her an out. He’d heard more than enough of his fellow soldiers cry when they thought no one was listening, he refused to fall into that category of military_ ‘don’t talk about it’ _abuse_.

  


_She would cup his face and kiss him again, all eagerness and soft touches to pretend she knew what he was thinking. Maybe she did. Maybe it would have been the same way in the Army._ “You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do, Paladin.”

  


“God, I hope so.” _He kissed her back fiercely, enjoying how slowly she slid the zipper down on his borrowed Vault suit. Like they had all the time in the world. He supposed they did, in a way._

  


“Will this get you in trouble if someone finds out? Civilian fraternization?” _She would worry about getting him into trouble, a soldier through and through. But at the shake of his head she would relax, maybe kiss his throat_. “What do you want, Paladin?”

  


“ _It’s been forever since I’ve gotten to do this, I’m a bit overwhelmed._ ” Even in his fantasies he was _far_ from dashing, Danse admitted to himself. Maybe she would find it charming instead of something to pity. “ _Would you permit me to touch you?_ ” He found himself flushing for some strange reason at the thought of saying _that_ , settling for rolling onto his side. His fingers twitched.

  


_He would_ _cup her pubic mound with his hand if she said_ 'yes' _, feel the heat of her through her underwear, and when she whimpered it would send a shiver over his body._ “Christ.” _He muttered, tugging the fabric to the side._

  


He had been told before that him _not_ rambling was far more attractive than his awkward words ruining a moment, so he tended to bite back whatever nonsense he might say.

  


_Backhand would arch up off the counter when Danse breached her with one finger, the feeling of her making him groan and push his forehead against her shoulder for a minute. It really **had** been forever, hadn’t it? There were scars that spanned the expanse of her torso of course, she **was** a soldier, and he would take a second to kiss them, slipping her underwear off. _

  


He imagined she would croon softly to him and Danse wasn’t sure what the hell to call the noise that came out of him at _that_ , shifting his weight and biting down on his fist to keep quiet. In her bedroll across the room, Backhand stirred and he froze. His cock throbbed painfully hard in the tight Vault suit, the feeling flooding Danse with a nauseating combination of arousal and guilt. This was _wrong_ , he berated himself, entertaining these thoughts while the subject of said thoughts was sleeping across the room. He wished she hadn't set two of those Mister Handy robots to patrol the police station perimeter, at least _then_ he would have an excuse to walk this off. But his brain carried on over his conscience, seeming to actually work overtime instead.

  


“Last chance.” _He would say roughly,_ “If you don’t want me to engage with you, tell me now.”

  


“I do, I do.” _She would twiddle her fingers, fidgeting with her breast-wraps and not meeting his eyes._ “I’m nervous, though.” _She confessed all in a rush, finally looking back up at him._ “Could you maybe just go gentle?”

  


“I can do that.” _The Paladin said slowly, smiling reassuringly._ He had been told his smile was kind, one of his few redeeming qualities. “You’re sure you still…?”

  


“Yes, positive. Please.” _She sounded firmer this time around and Danse nodded, reaching up to stroke her breasts. She seemed to enjoy that well enough, moaning while he gently woke her peaks with his thumbs. He pulled the wrap down, letting her breasts spill over it in a tantalizing display for him. She pushed her breasts together, smiling up at him in a manner that was entirely foreign._ “Do you like them?” _She would ask him, teasing, no doubt already knowing the answer._

  


“I do.” _He liked to think she would light up like earlier when he had praised her, her fingers reaching to unzip his suit the rest of the way._ His cock had swelled to the point of discomfort in his briefs, Danse just rubbing his fingers back and forth over the shaft through the snug fabric of the suit. _She mewled needily as she struggled with his waistband._ The Paladin finally slid a hand into his underwear, hissing out a breath at his own touch.

  


…

  


Backhand had known she was in trouble the second she had seen him fighting for his team. She just hadn’t realized how _much_ trouble.

  


She rolled over in her sleeping bag, trying her hardest to get comfortable. Her whole body felt _alive_ again for the first time since she’d left the Vault. She was in a warm haze, luxuriating in the arousal that flooded her core at the way he looked at her. He had kissed her back once, fiercely enough to make her lips tingle, then apologized for his lack of restraint and continued to work on the deep range transmitter. A soldier through and through. She could respect his dedication to his team, so she bid him goodnight and tucked herself into bed instead of badgering him to satisfy her curiosity. It was one thing for them to not be on field maneuvers, but he was on recon duty and until backup arrived he was by _no_ means relieved of that duty.

  


It had been so long since she had _wanted_ anyone to touch her, though. She didn't even bother counting the two hundred years spent frozen. Before that her ex-husband, a lawyer, had made her life hell when she demanded a divorce after getting pregnant. She remembered with a pang of sorrow the tense delivery room conversation, the way Nate declined to hold his newborn son while she laid there, exhausted. He was here for one thing and one thing only.

  


“ _Just sign these papers and we'll get it over with, Beth_.” The man had said sharply. She hadn't even had the strength to lift her arm. One of the Mister Handy bots had assisted her with the motion of scrawling her signature. It might have been a Miss Nanny bot, now that she thought about it.

  


She rubbed her eyes, the pit of her stomach starting to ache as she slipped into a doze. _Danse somehow found his way into the hospital room, the man’s brown eyes kind as he took her into his arms. He hushed her, smoothing her tangled hair away from her face and murmuring,_ “You’re alright, I’m here.”

  


_He would kiss the scar on her belly instead of flinching away from it. He would move over her like it wasn’t a chore at all, like he wanted to do this. His fingers plunged into her, letting her grind her clit up against the heel of his hand to soothe and frenzy the ache inside of her. It wasn’t_ _**enough** _ _but she didn’t want it to be over, didn’t want it to end so soon._

  


_Danse seemed to understand, permitting her to ride his hand until she could feel him moving with her, his own hips rolling at every shudder of her pelvis. He had his mouth pressed to her neck, teeth and tongue moving across the skin lazily while he rutted his cock against her thigh. When they had both lost their clothes was a detail she had missed_. “Please.” _She begged, cupping the back of his neck to raise his head._ “Please, Danse-”

  


_He nodded, giving a low growl of,_ “Understood,” _when she started licking his fingers clean. He would spread her open, a hand on each thigh to keep her steady._ “Do you want this?” _He would ask, that deep voice gone gravelly._

  


Backhand got the feeling that he would ask as many times as he felt was necessary. Typical soldier he might be, but his smile earlier was so heartfelt she had a hard time believing he would use his superior size against someone who wasn't the enemy. “Paladin-” Backhand's eyes shot open and she quickly put a hand over her mouth, horrified that she'd said his rank out loud. She cringed down lower in her sleeping bag, watching from across the room as the man turned over onto his side with a mumble.

  


Despite the distraction, her other hand found its way into her underwear. She was soaked through her suit and she mentally groaned, biting her lip. Her fingers would have to suffice, as they had so many times before.

  


“I’ll just…” _He would stroke his cock before lining himself up and plunging_ _ **deep**_. Her breath caught in her throat, no sound escaping her as her fingers echoed her longing. _He would drag his hands down her body, greedy at her breasts and hips, tracing her scar and chuckling low in his throat when she would shiver and whine_.

  


Backhand couldn’t keep quiet a second longer, biting down on the sleeve of her Vault suit. “ _Oh_.” She gasped.

  


_Danse would start slowly rubbing around her clit with his index finger and she would plead for him not to stop._ “Not unless you tell me to.” _He would grunt, gripping her hip with his other hand._ “You want it faster? More?”

  


_She would **beg** for more, hungry, throwing herself against him in a way that would normally make her embarrassed. But he would take everything she had, he was strong enough to take it._

  


She _also_ liked to think he would tease a little. “This is what you _get_ for greasing my Armor, _civilian_.” _Danse would rumble out the statement with a smirk, pinning her hips down to the counter and mercilessly fucking into her._ “This is what you goddamn _get_.”

  


Backhand nodded furiously, whimpering _yes_ over and over softly into the fabric in her mouth.

  


“That’s right, tell me how much you want it.” _Danse instructed softly, fingers back on her clit. He would work her over methodically, mouthing at her sensitive breasts until they were covered with small pink marks from his explorations._

  


Her whole body was shaking, she was _ready_ , so ready, she had needed this for _so_ long and she came apart with a stifled cry of delight. She twitched her fingers inside her and made herself tremble, moaning softly at the aftershocks that rolled through her. Across the room, she heard Danse grunt and she held her breath, fearing that she'd woken him up.

  


…

  


Danse threw an arm over his eyes, breathing hard. _She carded her fingers through his hair tenderly, cradling him to her chest._ The Paladin felt his throat tighten and he sighed, content to ignore the world for another minute and drag out his fantasy even after he'd come. Maybe he would finally get to enjoy some of that post-coitus banter he'd heard so much about...

  


Danse woke up at some point of the early morning to movement in the room, the weak dawn light making him close his eyes again and groan. Lips pressed to his cheek and he felt someone pull his bedroll up around his shoulders. Normally that would alarm him, Haylen and Rhys knew better than to touch him while he was half-asleep. But he understood he was safe, for _some_ odd reason.

  


“ _Sleep well, Paladin_.”

  


He knew he should probably feel stupid or hell, even a little guilty about being woken up well past sunrise by Knight Rhys. But the hickeys on Rhys’ neck made him give the other man a sleepy, knowing smirk. Rhys huffed after a second or two, straightening up when a disheveled Haylen barged through the front doors of the police station.

  


“Paladin Danse! Are you…” She trailed off, taking in Danse’s smirk and the look on Rhys’ face. “Oh…oh no, they’re _really_ obvious.” Haylen said weakly, flushing.

  


“Told you.” Rhys grunted, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Looks like the Paladin has a love letter, though. _And_ a cold bed. Rough night, sir?” Rhys was _teasing_ and that in and of itself convinced Danse he'd done the right thing by sending them off to spend time together.

  


“I wouldn’t say _that_.” The Paladin fumbled upright in his sleeping bag, picking up the folded piece of paper left on the floor beside his head.

  


_Paladin,_

_Duty calls. Sent another Mister Handy over to patrol while you snoozed in case something happened. Return them back to Graygarden once you guys don’t need it any longer [please!]. Didn’t want to wake you, seemed like you could use the sleep. I’m going to think a while about enlisting. If you’re ever in Concord, look me up._

_Sincerely, 'Backhand’ Vega_.

  


Danse felt like a damn idiot for not realizing that Backhand was a _nickname_.

 


	2. The Prydwen

Danse marched straight to Knight-Captain Cade once the Prydwen sent a vertibird to collect his squadron. The Paladin was exhibiting strange symptoms (for him, anyway) and he desperately needed the medical officer’s input. Danse started rattling off everything that had transpired to Cade, comforted by the scratch of the older man’s pen on his clipboard.

 

“Well Paladin, you’re not going to like my answer.” Cade said finally. Danse noted with confusion that the Knight-Captain was smiling. Surely his suffering couldn’t be _that_ funny? “You’re fine. It’s not a wasting sickness or an infection. _Or_ rad poisoning.”

 

“What is it then?” The Paladin asked, hating how his voice wanted to shake. He wasn’t a _child_.

 

“You are being emotionally affected by that civilian.” Cade replied simply.

 

Danse scoffed. “Excuse me, sir?”

 

“This is the first time you’ve come to me with a civilian-related issue, Paladin. Which leads me to believe this is the first time you’ve _had_ an issue with civilian relations.” Knight-Captain Cade flipped through his clipboard. “You’re a model soldier, Danse. This changes nothing. You lost over half your squadron from skirmishes, you were in a certain-death situation earlier in the day and you reached out for comfort in the anonymous because they would not judge your actions. There’s no shame in that. But…” Cade trailed off.

 

“Fraternizing with that civilian obviously transferred some type of illness. Via the exchange of saliva.” Danse filled in bleakly, staring down at his hands and waiting for Cade to prescribe him one of his infamously terrible-tasting medications.

 

Cade made an annoyed noise. “ _No_ , Paladin. Christ, you can be thick sometimes. Your ‘symptoms’ are just manifestations of…listen to me, Danse. There is _nothing_ wrong with you. You’re mentally and physically sound. All scans are coming back negative. Granted, I would have preferred for you to keep your mouth to yourself instead of swapping the bodily fluids of an unknown, but you mentioned that this woman was in a stasis, in a _Vault_ , no less. As far as potential partners go, obviously there are worse paths to take. This wasn’t your first time _kissing_ someone, correct Paladin? You’ve done that before?” There was no judgment in Cade’s tone, merely mild teasing.

 

Danse did his best not to be offended. He just couldn't comprehend why Cade was treating him like this was a joke. The nights he spent at the police station were sleepless. More often than not he got back into his Power Armor and just patrolled the perimeter of the property, tried to keep the fire barrels well-supplied in case of another feral horde descending upon the location.

 

He also checked across the river frequently for lights at Graygarden, not just the dim thrusters of those robots but actual _lights_ , some proof that she might have returned. Rhys had caught him squinting into the dark more than once and Danse was a terrible liar, always had been. He knew the Knight and Scribe must be conspiring because when Haylen would return from her chats with the various supervisory bots, she would make a point to loudly relate any tidbits she might have gleaned from the odd machines across the way. Ones that related to Backhand, anyway.

 

Civilian Vega.

 

Danse just couldn't fathom why everyone was so entertained by his strange behavior. Behavior that _he_ couldn't explain. Why was no one concerned about this? This was highly irregular! “I _know_ my body, Cade. There's something wrong with me!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, quickly getting himself under control again. “Look, I told you everything I’ve noticed out of the ordinary. Are you _certain_ there’s no disease I could have picked up?”

 

“Paladin Danse, you are fit for duty. Dismissed.” Knight-Captain Cade said curtly. At that, Danse knew better than to try and argue, simply shutting his mouth and saluting. “Did the civilian accept your proposal to join the Brotherhood?” Cade asked out of the blue while Danse was putting his uniform back on.

 

Surprised, Danse shook his head. “I woke up to a note that said she would think about it, sir.” A look of understanding crossed Cade’s face and Danse wished that the older man would just _tell him_ what the hell was going on instead of being cryptic. It would serve him right if he got some kind of deadly disease after surrendering to his urges and fraternizing with a civilian. But Cade said he was alright, and the Knight-Captain wasn’t known to lie to his charges. Danse just wished he could understand _why_ he felt so miserable.

 

...

 

His answer came in the form of an out-of-breath Squire over a month later.

 

Danse hadn’t even noticed the boy hanging off the arm of his Power Armor, so thick was his distraction, until he heard a frantic yelp when he tried to go through the doorway to the outer deck. The Squire dropped to the floor, sketching a salute at the Paladin. “Paladin Danse, sir, Proctor Ingram requests your presence on the ground!” The Squire relayed, looking very pleased with himself.

 

Danse nodded, unable to hide his grin when the Squire quickly climbed back up on his arm. “I take it you’re to accompany me, Squire?”

 

“The Proctor said that I’m to defend you at all costs, sir!” The Squire answered, saluting again.

 

“Proceed, Squire.” Danse sidestepped through the door to the outside of the massive zeppelin, feeling the stiff breeze whip over the loading scaffold. He was still leery about Squires being on their warship, some of them were _very_ young. But Elder Maxson insisted that they 'learn under fire'. “Vertibird or jump?” He asked cordially, watching how large the Squire’s eyes went.

 

“Oh I dunno’, sir. P-Probably the vertibird.” The small boy answered, puffing out his chest a little from the power of being offered a choice. Danse headed for one of the docked vertibirds, nodding to the Engineer piloting it.

 

There was nothing quite like flying. Danse had grown to love the sensation over his many years of service. The powerful roar of the dual propellers, the swooping feeling in his stomach when the aircraft disengaged from the Prydwen…and _nothing_ could match raining fire and death upon their enemies via minigun.

 

The flight was over much sooner than the Paladin would have liked and he disembarked from the craft, the Squire proudly attached to his shoulder as he made his way across the airfield. Due to her modified Power Armor frame Ingram towered over the Scribes and Aspirants, which made her _very_ easy to locate in a crowd. “Proctor Ingram!” Danse called, his brow furrowing when he heard an odd noise. It seemed to be coming from the cluster of soldiers _behind_ Ingram. She just looked worried, beckoning him to hurry up.

 

“Danse, we have something here that I believe belongs to you.” She said once he was within earshot.

 

“Something of mine, Proctor?” Danse queried, confused.

 

“It’s a dog!” The Squire said helpfully.

 

“Yes, but more than that, it’s a dog that’s guarding the Paladin’s laser rifle like it’s the most important thing in the world.” Ingram corrected the Squire, scooping up the small child and placing him on her own shoulder.

 

Danse’s mouth went dry. “My…my laser rifle, ma’am?”

 

“ _Yes_ Paladin. What, you gone deaf all of a sudden?” Ingram asked testily. “You know, the one that you _named_ via screwdriver chisel. Pretty sure I’d recognize that weapon anywhere.”

 

Danse felt like he was going to be sick to his stomach. The odd noise was _howling_. The crowd of Aspirants and Scribes parted before him to reveal a dog that was _very_ different from the usual wasteland mutts. His brown and black coat was glossy, pointed ears flat against his skull as he bayed and carried on. He looked like the spitting image of a pre-war German Shepherd. At his feet was Danse’s laser rifle. The stock of the rifle was coated liberally with slobber, but there was no mistaking the messy scrawl of ‘ _Righteous Authority_ ‘ on the side of the barrel.

 

The dog caught wind of Danse and those pointed ears pricked up, the animal whining and barking at the Paladin who just stood there, frozen. He had given that rifle to the civilian. He had given that rifle to _Backhand_. The dog barked at him again, spinning in a tight circle and then facing off towards the coast.

 

“Did something happen, boy?” Danse found his voice, crouching to get on the dog’s level. He didn’t really care that he probably looked like an absolute _lunatic_ , talking to a dog. The mutt howled mournfully, putting up an absolute _racket_. “Where is Scribe Haylen?” Danse asked, picking up the rifle gingerly.

 

“She and Knight Rhys are out on a research patrol for Proctor Quinlan. Paladin, what’s going on?” Ingram asked curiously.

 

“I’m not sure. Only one of us knows and he’s not exactly talking.” Danse replied wryly, nodding towards the dog who had taken off across the airfield the second Danse picked up the gun. “Keep your comms cued in case I need an evac. I’m going to see where this leads, Proctor.”

 

The dog kept looking back to make sure the Paladin was following him, halting and barking furiously if Danse fell too far behind. “I’m coming, dammit.” Danse grumbled, worried at the animal’s urgency. “We don’t all have four legs and light bodies, mutt.”

 

He was led along the coast, the dog giving the actual beach a wide berth. The sand was _crawling_ with mirelurks. It ensured there was no shortage of field rations, but at the cost of one’s nose. Danse followed the mutt’s lead, wishing that he’d had the presence of mind to pick up his helmet before leaving the Prydwen. There was nothing quite like being armored except for your _most_ vulnerable spot.

 

Past the high, crumbling walls of what Danse dimly recalled Maxson pointing out as Fort Independence, the dog bolted through the main gate of the fortress. The Paladin had to take a moment to regroup, startled and confused at the sight of a massive mirelurk queen corpse. Acid still bubbled thickly on the ground around it amongst the _piles_ of dead hatchlings and broken eggs; the air stank of brackish water and mirelurk droppings.

 

Fort Independence had been turned into a _hive_ for these filthy creatures. No wonder the Minutemen had abandoned the location as a lost cause. Having a beast _that_ size able to rise from the ocean to savage their fortress any time it desired?

 

There were burn marks on the creature’s thick shell, laser rifle marks. _Oh_ _ **no**_ _._ Danse’s eyes snapped up to the doorway the mutt had vanished through. “Dog?” He called cautiously, trying his hardest to keep his emotions under control. For some reason he didn’t care to examine he felt panicked, his heart pounding in his chest as he ducked to enter the archway. He followed the dog’s sad whines to a shadowy corner across the corridor, where he found the crumpled body.

 

Danse stood there silently for a moment, then dropped to one knee and propped himself up with the rifle. “Dammit.” He swore softly, reaching a gauntlet out to raise her chin off her chest. The dog whimpered, licking her face. Danse shooed him away gently.

 

“G’boy, Dogmeat.” Backhand suddenly choked, her hand twitching at her side. Danse barely kept from recoiling. He’d thought she was dead! “S’ a good boy. Shh, m’fine.” The pool of half-coagulated blood she was resting in seemed to contradict that statement, never mind the chest and shoulder of her combat armor being _partially_ _dissolved_ to reveal the acid-ravaged skin beneath. Danse noticed her glasses cracked and bent beside her on the ground. She’d fallen hard, then. “It’ll be over soon, pup. You go to Preston, okay? He’ll take care of you.” She winced in pain. “Ah, shit. Didn’t even make it to the…to the…” She paused, her breathing jerky. “The airship. Told those guys at Cambridge that I was…”

 

“Backhand.” Danse addressed her firmly, tipping her chin up. Her head lolled to the side and he watched as she tried to open her eyes, struggled to focus on him.

 

She squinted. “Well well, f’it isn’t the Paladin!” She actually mustered up a smile, despite her grievous injuries. “Never got the chance to join you guys…today was the day I’d hoped…” Her voice hitched. “Didn't expect that big _cunt_ t' come out the fuckin' sea. Garvey said the place was destroyed by a...monster. I...I think m' dyin', Paladin. Sir.” She admitted, her shaky words making Danse feel like he was going to be sick to his stomach for the second time that day.

 

He glanced around wildly for something, _anything_ that could help, and his eyes finally landed on an ancient First Aid box attached to the wall. When he moved to stand though, she started crying. Gasping sobs that shook her body and made Danse's hands strangely clumsy and indelicate; he ended up ripping the whole box off the wall instead of just popping the lid. He swore under his breath while he fumbled the box open, nearly crushing the precious Stimpack inside it. “Listen to me, soldier.” He tried his hardest to keep his voice steady, kneeling and taking her chin in his hand again. Her eyes were full of tears, wide-open and staring blankly forward. “ _Soldier_ , stay with me.” He shook her head and she jerked, groaning in pain. “Just listen to my voice, you're going to be alright but you need to stay awake.”

 

Danse pulled up the remains of the plaid shirt she had on beneath her armor, cringing inwardly at the state of her skin. It looked like she'd been _bathed_ in the acid, patches and holes eaten away in her stomach and shoulder to expose raw tissue. The fact that she had regained consciousness was a miracle in and of itself. “Danse, m' gonna' die, need you t' find my baby.” She slurred while he uncapped the Stim and carefully injected the majority of it into the intact area of her stomach. He kept some in reserve. If her heart stopped he would need to buy the time to get out of his Power Armor to do compressions.

 

“Still with me?” He asked, taking her hand. “You're _not_ dying. The Brotherhood needs you, civilian. I doubt you want your second military career to start with a sternal rub.”

 

“Give it y’best shot, kid.” She coughed, squeezing back on his gauntlet. “Y’dun't scare me.” She squirmed after a minute or two, struggling to sit up a little. “Fuck, fuck fuck.”

 

“Be _still_ , let the meds do their work.” Danse ordered. “Once you’re stabilized I’m bringing you straight to the Prydwen. No more sidetracks, understand soldier?”

 

“Not gonna’ look too good if I show up draped across your arms like you’re The Paladin From The Black Lagoon.” Backhand pointed out. The dog curled up beside her, not seeming to care about the blood and mirelurk muck on the ground. “How did you find me, anyway?”

 

Backhand’s eyes were focusing better, Danse noted. She was coming out of it. “That dog of yours has a hell of a nose. Mutt carried the rifle I gave you all the way to the airport and put up a fuss until Proctor Ingram fetched me.”

 

Backhand’s fingers dug into the ruff of fur around the dog’s neck. “What a lifesaver you are, Dogmeat.” She praised, scratching the animal behind his ears. “I’ve got a bit of Brahmin meat all wrapped up in my pack _just_ for you.” She squinted up at the Paladin. “Sir, can I trust you?”

 

“I mean, if you have to _ask_ me civilian, you probably don’t.” Danse grunted.

 

“Dogmeat didn’t rip you apart, which means you’re good people. But can I _trust_ you?” She leaned forward a little, fingers scrabbling at one of the handles on his breastplate. “I found a way in.” She whispered.

 

Danse felt lost. “You found a way in...?” He repeated after a beat.

 

“Into the Institute.” Her tone was still hushed, like someone could be listening in.

 

Danse raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And just _how_ did you manage that?” He didn’t mean to be quite so suspicious, but news of the Institute was slim and none around these parts. It would be just like those shadowy bastards to feed the Brotherhood bad intelligence.

 

“You don’t believe me. I’ve got...I need… _sir_ , I need to deal with people who know what the hell they’re doing. I need resources.” Backhand sounded desperate. “You said the Brotherhood of Steel safeguards technology to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Well kid, this could be some of the baddest tech you tin cans could get your gauntlets on. Interested?”

 

“Maybe.” Danse allowed, quickly continuing with, “First things first civilian, we need to get you some legitimate medical attention. Stimpack plugged the holes but you’re far from out of the woods. If you don’t consent to being brought aboard the Prydwen, at least let me bring you to the airport where one of our Scribes can look you over.” Danse hoped he didn’t appear as panicked as he felt. She was _deathly_ pale, freckles standing out prominently across the bridge of her nose and here she was babbling about the damn Institute instead of focusing on staving off her imminent shutdown due to blood loss and shock. Normally, any information about the Institute would take _absolute_ priority, regardless of how patchy or suspect, but at this point in time Danse was entirely disinterested in the matter.

 

She clung tighter to the handle on his Power Armor and Danse gathered her up carefully, doing his best to adjust his grip so he didn’t chafe or pinch her exposed skin with his plating. The laser rifle was slung over his shoulder. It would be difficult to carry her and fend off any attackers, but if it came down to a no-win situation he could call for a vertibird. “Follow, Dogmeat.” Backhand said weakly, clicking her tongue. The dog whined, bolting forward to stick to Danse’s leg like glue. “Good boy, it’s okay.” She assured him.

 

“That’s a very… _unusual_ name, civilian.”

 

“Hey, I didn’t pick it.” She retorted. “He came with the name, s’ the only thing he answers to. I would have gotten _real_ stereotypical and named him Rex or some German shit.”

 

“I would have thought Champion. He is a very handsome animal.” Danse suggested. The small talk was a tactical choice. He could easily monitor her speech for slurring or further signs of cognitive failure, indications that she was going into a shock state.

 

She puffed out a breath. “I’d have taken you for the type to call a dog Oscar Mike. Did you seriously _name_ your rifle, by the way?”

 

Danse shrugged as best as he could. “It allowed me to be a much more effective soldier. _Righteous Authority_ just seemed…appropriate.”

 

“That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard for naming a weapon.”

 

“Excuse me, civilian?”

 

“You heard me.” She grimaced. “Not everything needs to be so _noble_. You oughta’ name it Mirelurk Masher. Feral Fryer. No! Feral _Fricassee_. Sounds fancier.” She squinted when she grinned. “Oo, what about Chattanooga Choo-Choo? Pennsylvania Six Five Thousand?”

 

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?” The Paladin asked, legitimately confused at this point.

 

“Glenn Miller, you uncultured twit. Try to keep up.” She chided.

 

Danse mouthed _Chattanooga_ , the word strange to his tongue. Dogmeat barked, as if to agree with his mistress. “Oh no you don’t, mutt.” The Paladin grumbled. “I’m not about to be mocked by something that slobbers more than its body weight.”

 

“Gosh, you sound a little _defensive_ sir.”

 

“Me? Defensive? I…” Danse paused, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a mirelurk that seemed to have noticed them. “Hold tight if you can.”

 

“Why am I _oh fuck-!_ ” Backhand gripped the handles on his chest as Danse pulled the rifle forwards with one hand. “Little warning next time, Pal!” The Paladin began to stammer out an apology, trying to keep an eye on the quickly-approaching crustacean, but Backhand interrupted him by unbuckling her old Army helmet and plopping it onto his head. “Go forth!” She proclaimed over Dogmeat's loud growling.

 

Danse snorted. “Not exactly up to spec, but it’ll do.” He hoisted her up a bit higher to get her out of claw range, tucking her frame into the crook of his elbow and brandishing _Righteous Authority_.

 

“Worst knight in shining armor _ever_.”

 

The news that Paladin Danse had returned with the dog (and a _civilian_ ) spread through the base like wildfire. He was relatively certain this might lead to some disciplinary action, possibly for an abuse of resources.

 

He still found one of the medical Scribes. Backhand started protesting that she needed to ‘ _report in_ ’ and he silenced her by passing off her helmet. “I’ll talk to the Elder. You let the Scribe look you over. Keep your mutt close so he doesn’t distract the Squires.”

 

Paladin Danse feared no man. His Elder _could_ be difficult, there was no other way to say it, but he had been a competent soldier when he served with Danse. The Paladin was fairly confident that he could convince the other man of Backhand’s usefulness, with or without the wild tale of a way into the Institute.

 

It was easier said than done though, as he stared at Arthur Maxson’s back. “Elder.” He said respectfully, saluting with his fist on his chest.

 

“Paladin Danse. I’ve heard a troubling rumor.” There was always an undercurrent of danger when Maxson spoke. He was a _young_ Elder, with a fuse to match someone of his age and pride. Maxson appeared to already be in a bit of a mood. Danse knew he would have to tread carefully here.

 

“What is the rumor, Elder?”

 

“A civilian. A woman, carried boldly into our compound in _your_ arms, with a dog at your leg. We simply bring strays back to our camp now, Paladin?” Maxson snapped.

 

“Permission to explain myself, Elder.” Danse understood that this wasn’t his friend he was talking to. It pained him to resort to such formality but he knew it would only infuriate Maxson further if he broke protocol.

 

Elder Maxson grunted, his shoulders rigid. He still hadn’t turned to face Danse, continuing to stare out the window. “Permission granted.” He finally muttered.

 

“That civilian is the one who came to the aid of my team at the police station. The woman from the Vault. She is… _familiar_ with Power Armor and military protocols.” Danse was a rotten liar, and he wasn’t much better at telling half-truths. “She had expressed interest in joining, but her circumstances prevented it at that point in time.”

 

“What was she doing at Fort Independence?” Maxson asked.

 

“A reconnaissance mission for the Minutemen while en route to join us, it uh…there was a mirelurk queen.”

 

Maxson whirled and Danse was startled to see how _nervous_ he looked. “A mirelurk _queen?_ ”

 

“Yes…Elder.” Danse replied slowly.

 

“The acid from one of those creatures could knock us out of the sky, Paladin. Cripple our operations. It was so close to here and we didn’t even know.” Maxson pounded his fist into his palm. “I’d thought our teams of Knights were doing _thorough_ sweeps, but I guess I was wrong.”

 

“You’ll have to speak with her, but from what I could tell it emerged from the ocean. It may be a deep-sea animal that wanders inland when it needs to lay eggs.” Danse suggested. “With all due respect, I doubt our Knights could easily overlook something of that size, Elder. I would advise sending out a research team to document the creature before it rots away.”

 

“An excellent idea, Paladin.” Maxson’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “What was it that you needed to ask me?”

 

“The civilian would like to join our ranks, Elder.” Danse inhaled, bracing himself. “I am formally recommending Knight status.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed and he clasped his hands behind his back. Danse could feel the proverbial ice he was treading on grow thinner beneath him, so he hurried to say, “Elder Maxson, she’s already trained. It would just be a question of familiarizing her with the advances made in Power Armor technology. When we engaged in combat together, she followed orders and displayed considerable skill.” _Which you would know if you read my field reports_.

 

“That’s all well and good, Paladin, but you of _all_ people should know that we don’t let just anyone suit up around here.” Maxson snapped. “You vouching for her will certainly be taken into account if she reports for duty, and should I deem her worthy of joining our ranks, _you_ will be relieved of your duties with Gladius to take up your new mantle as her sponsor. Any mistakes she makes will have swift and dire consequences. For _both_ of you.” Maxson was not a subtle man. The threat in his words was blatant but Danse refused to be cowed, simply nodding and then saluting again. “I’ll be counting on you, Paladin. Don’t disappoint me.” Arthur finally let a little warmth seep into his tone. “It’s good to see you again, Danse.”

 

“It’s…It’s good to see you as well, Arthur.” Danse floundered a little, always caught off-guard when Maxson swapped back and forth. He wanted to shout _I’ve been here for over a goddamn month, Arthur! Don’t act like you didn’t know I was around!_ “How have you been?”

 

Arthur shrugged. “It’s a heavy burden. As ever.” He paused. “It seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Danse.”

 

“Proctor Ingram and Proctor Quinlan have been keeping me busy.” That wasn’t a lie, between resource and research patrols the Paladin had been stretched thin. Danse shifted warily when Maxson sighed.

 

“I had hoped that was the case.” Arthur murmured. “I wasn’t sure if our conversation from before you departed was still grating on you.”

 

_Conversation? That’s a lofty term._ “With all due respect, Arthur, you told me that my squadron had been assigned to an almost certain-death reconnaissance mission and then proceeded to dismiss me from your private quarters without my uniform.” Danse was a bit stunned that Maxson had even brought it up, honestly. “It’s not a… _conversation_ I enjoy recalling.” _What the hell is wrong with you, Arthur?_

 

“Mind your _tone_ , Paladin.” _There_ was the Elder again, all sharp words and protocol.

 

“I meant no offense Arthur, I just…” Danse’s words trailed off at the irritated look on Maxson’s face. “I-I apologize for my overstep, Elder Maxson.”

 

“See that you remember your place. I won’t be so lenient next time.” Maxson saluted curtly. “Ad Victoriam, Paladin. Send me the civilian.”

 

“Yes, Elder.”

 

Danse wasn’t a man prone to _fuming_ or _brooding_ , he found these useless time leeches that clouded one’s judgement. It was much more prudent to be the bigger individual in most circumstances. Unfortunately in this instance, that was easier said than done. He was so angry he could hardly see straight and he knew that he certainly wasn’t going to be able to _think_ straight until he cooled off.

 

He made his way out to the scaffolding. Entirely forgoing the vertibird this time, the Paladin simply walked off the edge of the deck and plummeted to the ground. The Prydwen was a fair distance up but the drop was easily managed in Power Armor. Mostly, it was irresponsible because he didn't exactly have the jet mod to correct his trajectory lest there be some errant Scribe wandering around in the drop zone beneath him. Danse hit the dirt with a teeth-rattling impact, the force creating a shallow crater that he emerged from unscathed. Some of the fury had eased out of his body just from the hard landing and he took a steadying breath.

 

A Squire running by stopped to stare up at him with their mouth open and Danse seized the opportunity to ask, “Has the civilian been moved?”

 

…

 

Backhand straightened up when the Paladin entered the old airport waiting area, noticing his tightly-clenched fists immediately. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Danse was _pissed_. “Whoa, I take it this Elder guy was not in a gaming mood?”

 

“What makes you say that?” The Paladin asked curtly. The confusing part was that he didn’t seem to be replying sarcastically.

 

“Because you’re all tense? You’ve got total gorilla posture right now, look like you want to pulverize a wall.”

 

“You’re mistaken, civilian. I’m fine.”

 

Backhand grunted but decided that it would be in her best interest to change the subject. “What do you guys do with holotags?”

 

“I…Excuse me?” Danse cocked his head to the side. “You picked up a set of holotags?”

 

“I told you, I did a _lot_ of salvaging. More than one set. Soldiers in gear with that crest.” She pointed at the mark on the chest of his Power Armor. “Some tapes too, but I…I stopped listening to most of the tapes I find a while ago.” The sounds of Shaun gurgling and making happy noises in the background while Codsworth rambled about how _exciting_ it was to be an official part of her family sprang to the forefront of her mind every time she reached for a new tape. “They’re in my pack. I wrote down where I found each one, too. I know how this shit works, sir. Next of kin will want everything they can get.”

 

Danse looked like he’d been punched in the stomach when Backhand had collected every little envelope in her gear and passed them to him. He cleared his throat _several_ times before managing to say, “I…thank you. These…they were good soldiers.”

 

“I’m sorry, Paladin.” Backhand said quietly.

 

“There was nothing anyone could have done.” He muttered, sounding like he believed exactly the opposite. “These are from the recon team before us, Squad Artemis. They were the second team that’s been issued out here, and they went dark so fast. My team…” Danse paused. “Well, it’s a good thing you came along.”

 

Backhand knocked her metal-plated knuckles on his chest armor, making him raise his eyes again. “Don’t look so sad, huh?” She said softly. “You and I both know the risks.”

 

“Of course.” Danse’s voice was quiet, the tension gone out of his shoulders. He seemed exhausted now. “When you’re able to move, the Elder would like to speak with you as soon as possible. He was thrilled that you killed the mirelurk queen.” He continued in a monotone.

 

Backhand squinted and got to her feet, happy that her legs barely shook. Dogmeat barked, prancing around her legs and almost tripping her up. “Oh Jesus, you furball.” She rummaged through her pack again, dragging the carefully-wrapped packet of Brahmin meat out. “I know, I promised. You’ve been very patient.” She laughed, scratching Dogmeat behind his ears before ripping a chunk off the steak and tossing it to him. “Don’t suppose you grabbed my glasses when you came to scoop me up, didja’?” She asked the Paladin hopefully.

 

Danse clicked open the side compartment in his left gauntlet, shocking her when he _actually_ pulled her glasses out of the space. “They are badly damaged.” He warned as he handed them over.

 

“Doesn’t matter, two half-functional eyes are better than none!” Backhand shook some of the crusty gunk off her frames and plopped them back onto her face. “You’re much uglier than I remember.” She teased, startled when the Paladin chuckled.

 

“Oh, _very_ funny civilian. Come up with that all by yourself?”

 

One vertibird ride later Danse ushered her onboard the massive airship, promising a stern-looking man ( _Lancer? Captain Kells? Lancer Kells?_ ) the tapes Backhand had from Squad Artemis to quell his questions for the time being. The Paladin then took his leave after showing her the command deck. It also appeared to double as an observation deck, with a semicircle of thick windows that looked out on Fort Strong, the open ocean and Fort Independence.

 

Elder Maxson seemed… _young_. Backhand got the feeling he’d been thrust into the position and now he was trying his hardest to make someone proud. His appearance, despite his obvious youth, was rather imposing. He was tall, almost as tall as the Paladin though not as broad, and sported a thick beard with a long scar over his cheek. Sharp blue eyes peered out at her from beneath his heavy brow. He looked, for lack of a better term, _stiff_.

 

That was why she found it so strange that the first words out of his mouth to her were an admission of praise. “Civilian Vega, the Paladin has informed me that you performed far above and beyond a normal individual’s level of expertise while out on field maneuvers.”

 

“I performed to the best of my abilities, sir. As did the Paladin.”

 

“Tell me civilian, what’s your opinion on the Paladin’s performance?”

 

Backhand was a bit unbalanced, the question striking her as incredibly odd. _She_ was the one trying to join up, not the Paladin. “Sir?”

 

“You heard me, civilian.”

 

“He...it’s been ages since I’ve given an oral report, sir, I apologize.” Backhand straightened herself out, her arms rigid at her sides. “The Paladin seems incredibly skilled. Dedicated to your cause. I haven’t met anyone else from the Brotherhood except the surviving members of Recon Squad Gladius but they are a fine example for your…organization.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless of course, they’re the exception instead of the rule.”

 

“Absolutely not. But Paladin Danse and his squadron has been through hell. Before this last maneuver there were _seven_ of them. Good soldiers died on that mission, soldiers we could ill-afford to lose.” Maxson cleared his throat. “You believe that the Paladin is competent, I assume?”

 

“I’ve seen no evidence to indicate the contrary, sir.” Backhand could already tell that her and Maxson were not going to be on great terms, so she silenced the part of her brain that queried _what about when he charged into that room full of Synths, hollering about the Brotherhood with his guns fucking blazing?_

 

Maxson sighed heavily. “That’s good to hear. Paladin Danse was always an incredible soldier. I’d hoped his edge hadn’t dulled while in the field.” He squared his shoulders, fixing her with a suspicious look. Those icy blue eyes made her nervous but Backhand had dealt with many a too-young, posturing officer in her day. “The Paladin has graciously suggested that you be immediately pushed up to Knight, due to your prior experience. I’m curious as to what that prior experience _is_. Gunners?”

 

“No sir. The United States Army.” Apparently Danse hadn’t told his superior _that_ much about her. Maxson looked irritated, like he suspected her of having a laugh at his expense. “I was cryogenically frozen in a Vault for two hundred years. One of the incentives offered to kids to get them to enlist was being bumped up the waiting list on Vaults if they were honorably discharged.”

 

“That’s quite the fantastic story you have.” Maxson snapped. “Had I known I’d be letting you aboard the Prydwen to listen to lunatic ramblings, I’d have forbade your entry and had you _escorted_ off our compound. Do you take me for some kind of bumbling idiot?”

 

“No one knows better than I do how wild and crazy this is. I’ve lived it, after all.” Backhand retorted dryly. “I have pre-war Power Armor training. I have pre-war military training. I woke up in a goddamn refrigerator to an absolute nightmare and quite frankly, I’m a little exhausted of having to prove myself to every Tom, Dick and Harry that comes along. But you do what you have to. Put me through a combat exercise. Pit me against one of your tin men. I can guarantee not to disappoint in _or_ out of Power Armor. _Sir_.”

 

“The Paladin has clearly lost his mind if he believes the story you’ve fed him.” Maxson scoffed, turning his back on her. “I can't say I'm surprised though, he's always been too trusting.”

 

“I took down a mirelurk queen, sir. I need no Paladin to validate my story with a carcass that big.” Backhand could feel her satisfied grin settle into a furious smirk. “There’s a Vault out by Concord.” Triumph surged through her as Maxson slowly rotated enough so he could look at her over his shoulder. “I’d invite you to check it out, but I’m sure the Commonwealth would eat someone like _you_ alive. Send one of your squishy Scribes to the location if you really feel like this is a worthwhile usage of resources.”

 

“I’m a bit perplexed by what you mean when you say ‘ _someone like you_.” Maxson growled, a dangerous edge to his voice.

 

“A wise man once told me that a leader who permits his pride to impede his decisions is doomed to failure, sir.”

 

“ _Civilian-_ ”

 

“Sir, I have intimate knowledge of the Commonwealth. _I_ _lived here_. This was my home before everything went to hell. If there’s a chance that I can be useful, even after everything has been destroyed, if there’s a chance I can use what I’ve learned over my time serving…I would ask that you give me that chance.” She wasn’t _begging_ , but she was sure it would sound like she was to this blustering child.

 

“ _Christ_ , you’re serious, aren’t you? By your account I should already have you fitted for Power Armor.” He was mocking her, obviously off-kilter.

 

“I don’t know why the Paladin suggested Knight status, aside from faith in my capabilities. He offered me Initiate ranking when he first asked me to join.” She could hazard a guess that Initiate was maybe a step or twelve beneath Knight.

 

“Initiate is the only rank he’s allowed to grant. It evens out to your Army’s Recruit.” Maxson explained grudgingly. “Only an Elder can grant higher ranks.”

 

“I guess all roads lead to Rome around here, huh.” Backhand muttered. _No wonder this guy acts like a brat, every promotion on this bucket passes through his hands_.

 

“ _However_ , when suggestions are made by my Paladins, Lancers, Proctors, et cetera, I listen. Because I value the input of individuals who have years of experience and dedication.” Maxson faced her fully again, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the floor. “You understand that if I grant you ranking like Paladin Danse has suggested, you would have a probationary period where the Paladin will accompany you on fieldwork.”

 

“That’s understandable, so yes I understand.” Backhand replied, barely resisting the urge to raise her eyebrow. This kid really seemed to think he was impressive. “If I mess up, I assume he’ll put a bullet through my skull to save you the trouble, sir?”

 

“Your _flippant_ attitude is noted, civilian.”

 

“Will there be any sort of disciplinary action for the Paladin if I screw up, since he’s sponsoring me?” Backhand had noticed an uncanny pattern of trouble following her like a little black rain cloud, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin Danse’s career if something went awry.

 

“No.” Elder Maxson said after a long pause. “It’s hardly the Paladin’s fault that he’s determined to fatten our ranks.”

 

“Have you tried recruiting the locals? I’m sure a lot of the Minutemen would-”

 

“The _Minutemen_.” Maxson interrupted her with a snort of disbelief. “Did they sincerely send you out _alone_ to clean out that mirelurk nest?”

 

“To be fair, I was only supposed to be scouting the area. A one-person job.” Backhand grimaced. “There was a large gap in the wall facing the open water and I had a few landmines, so I-”

 

“ _Mines?_ ”

 

“Yes sir, mines.”

 

“Christ."

 


	3. Orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains a vivid scene of PTSD and a scene that can be considered either dubious consent or manipulation via the chain of command and rape. Please read at your own risk!]

Danse didn’t _mean_ to pace. But he honestly wasn’t sure how the meeting of the minds would go and he didn’t put it past Maxson to cut off his nose to spite his face. He could only imagine the carnage that might ensue if they reached an impasse. Back and forth he went, aware that he was probably annoying the daylights out of Quinlan and Cade by essentially walking a beat in front of their offices.

 

The P.A. system crackled to life. “ _Paladin Danse, report to the command deck. Paladin Danse, command deck._ ”

 

Danse felt incredibly awkward as everyone in the mess hall turned to stare at him, no doubt wondering what he’d done. He quickly clattered his way down the ladder to the command deck while listening for gunfire or Maxson’s shouting, but everything seemed quiet.

 

Arthur was talking animatedly with the civilian. He didn’t look _angry_ , exactly, but he seemed like he could be soon. “-Scribes could use this information to prevent further injury, we should have a class--” He stopped abruptly when he noticed Danse hovering in the doorway. “Paladin! _Finally_. I need you to immediately begin the process of sponsoring Knight Vega.”

 

“Congratulations.” The word was out before Danse could think about it and Maxson seemed weirdly irritated, his eyes narrowing to mere slits.

 

“Thank you sir!” Vega all but gushed, snapping the Paladin a salute. “I’ll do the best that I can, of course.”

 

“See that you do, Knight.” Maxson growled. “We can discuss the crash course a little later. Paladin Danse, I’m formally relieving you of your duties with Squad Gladius. This new Knight is now your responsibility. As for _you_ , Knight, I suggest you familiarize yourself with the ship. The Prydwen will be your sanctuary from this point forward.” Arthur smiled thinly then. “I expect good things from you, Knight. Dismissed.”

 

“Understood sir. Thank you sir. Ad Victoriam.” Backhand mimicked the Brotherhood of Steel salute, tapping her chest briefly in the wrong spot. But it wasn’t half-bad. Danse saluted as well, then beckoned for her to follow him up the wide ladder to the main deck.

 

“Welcome aboard, Knight.” He said, grinning down at her once they were on deck.

 

“Thank you!” She replied excitedly, bouncing a little. “ _Look_ at this place, it's massive! And I can't believe you told Elder Maxson such nice things about me! For being a tin can, you're not half bad.”

 

“I didn't say anything nice, I gave him an honest estimation of your abilities.” Danse protested. “There's...I didn't say anything _nice_.”

 

“Ah ah, you gave me a good review and you know it! That's okay though, I returned the favor when he asked.” Backhand winked up at him.

 

“He...what?” Danse's smile faded. “The Elder asked about me?”

 

“He asked me my opinion on your field performance. I thought it was kind of strange, seeing as how you're obviously of a high rank and I doubt you got there by accident, but I answered as best as I could.” Backhand was clearly distracted, her eyes roving over the mess hall and squinting to take in the long hallway a little further down. “Now, I'm supposed to report to Knight-Captain Cade for my physical exam. Don't suppose you could direct me to him, sir?”

 

“He's...yes, of course. Right here.” The Paladin said numbly, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her in place to face Cade's office. “Report to Lancer-Captain Kells when you're done, he's usually in the cockpit below the command deck. Familiarize yourself with your surroundings, Knight, and of course with your new brothers and sisters.” He watched her bolt, not in the direction of Cade's office, but down the hall to the galley, shaking his head when he heard an excited commotion from the Scribes and Aspirants on their meal shift.

 

He clunked back down the ladder to the command deck, walking a little heavier than he needed to. Maxson clearly heard him, but the young man continued to stare out the windows with his hands folded behind him.

 

“Arthur!” Danse barked, well beyond irritated at this point. “What the hell is the matter with you? Knight Vega says you inquired on my field performance. You've had me back on this tub for over a month! What, you couldn't muster up the interest to read any of my reports or talk to the _surviving_ members of my squadron?”

 

“It's emotional outbursts like these that make me question you, Paladin.” Maxson said coolly. Danse gritted his teeth. “I don't have time to hold your hand and coddle you, soldier. We're on the brink of war and like it or not, your well-being isn't exactly a _priority_ to me.”

 

“I _never_ expected that. I understand your burden of leadership is placing the lives of the many over your own personal needs. But dammit Arthur-”

 

“I am the _Elder_ of this _chapter_ and you will _address_ me in the _manner_ which I am _accustomed_ to, Paladin!” Arthur shouted abruptly, his calm obviously a facade and the harsh tone of his voice making Danse want to rage right back at him. “I simply desired an unbiased opinion of your fieldwork, you thick-headed _idiot!_ ”

 

“Since _when_ have my field reports been untrustworthy? I'm not exactly singing my own praises in a mission where half my damned squadron was wiped out due to _my_ choices! Besides that, I would _hardly_ consider Knight Vega unbiased!” Danse snapped. Maxson froze momentarily and Danse tilted his head back, closing his eyes and _feeling_ like a thick-headed idiot. “Elder Maxson, I-”

 

“ _Paladin_.” Arthur's fingertips curved into a claw around his throat, a dizzying combination of familiar and foreign. “Did you _fraternize_ with your new subordinate?”

 

The gentle kiss at the police station stole traitorously into Danse's mind. “No, sir. I...I saved her life when an elevator collapsed.” He fumbled, feeling those fingers tighten. “You would know that if you had read my reports.”

 

“I won't tolerate any more of this flippant, insubordinate behavior from you _or_ your new charge.” Arthur's thumb dug _hard_ into Danse's jaw when he swallowed, the younger man doubtless feeling the day's worth of stubble. “Do I make myself clear, Paladin?”

 

“Of course, Elder.” Arthur released his throat and stepped back, straightening out his jacket. Danse knew he was dismissed but he couldn't help lingering for another minute. “Maxson, I-”

 

“Haven't you gotten yourself into _enough_ trouble today, Paladin?” Maxson asked coldly.

 

Danse saluted silently, his jaw aching with the echo of Arthur's iron grip and the effort of holding back every word that he wanted to hurl at the other man. _You could at least_ _ **pretend**_ _to give a damn, Arthur_.

 

…

 

The shifting of the massive airship around her was barely noticeable to Backhand as she dug through her pack, a group of three Squires looking on curiously. “Alright!” She said finally, her fingers brushing what she sought. “Any of you guys ever seen an alien?”

 

“An alien?!” The little girl Squire squeaked, sounding terrified. “You have an _alien?_ ”

 

“Of course! It's okay though, he's friendly. I've got a spaceship too.” Backhand tugged the small blue alien toy out of her pack and squeezed it until it let out an exhausted little honk. The girl Squire's mouth opened slightly. Backhand honked the toy again and held it out to her. “I told you, he's friendly. See his little smile?”

 

“Can I...”

 

“No, we're not th'posed to have toyth.” The taller of the two boy Squires lisped importantly. “Becauth we're tholdierth.”

 

“He's not a _toy_.” Backhand frowned. “He's playing possum. His name is Hank.”

 

“Hank?” The shorter Squire asked, his eyes widening when Backhand came up with a slightly-dented tin rocket. Her heart ached a little and she wondered how big Shaun was now, whether he had toys to play with.

 

“Yeah, can't you hear him say it?” Backhand wiggled the spaceship and pressed the alien into the little girl's hands. “Hank.” The smaller boy Squire eagerly accepted the rocket ship. “Now for you, I dunno'. You're a _soldier_. Maybe I have some...books for you to read.” She mused to the larger Squire. He instantly perked up and Backhand knew she'd found a gap in his armor.

 

“Like...like comic bookth?” He asked hopefully.

 

Backhand winked slyly at the little boy and passed him a folded-up copy of _The Unstoppables!_ , putting a finger to her lips. “It's a tactical manual of everything you'll need to know, should there be an issue in the Ux-Ron galaxy.” She whispered.

 

“Whoa, ith that the Thilver Shroud? He'th my favorite!” The Squire bounced in place. “Thometimeth if I'm on ground patrol, I'm in charge of the antennath for the radio and if I'm _really_ lucky, Athpirant Megan leth me lithen to channel three fourteen.”

 

“I need you guys to do something for me now, okay? This is really important, so pay attention.” Backhand glanced around, then got to her feet. “I need you to teach me how to salute.” The little girl instantly snapped a salute and Backhand had to resist the urge to laugh or ruffle her tight-cropped hair. “A little slower, okay? Remember, I'm kinda' old.”

 

“Oh!” The girl moved jerkily now, her two compatriots watching her a bit enviously. “M' gonna' be a Knight someday, s'why I have to do this better.” She said, sticking her tongue out at the taller boy.

 

Backhand mimicked her motion and the smaller Squire pushed her elbow up, shifting her fist over two or three inches. “Like that.” The little boy said simply, tucking his thumb into his mouth once he finished speaking.

 

There suddenly the sound of an angry voice, the shouting muffled by the layers of the floor beneath them. Backhand couldn't make out any words, but the children all looked uncomfortable. “Who is that?” She asked in confusion.

 

“Elder Maxson.” The little girl replied softly. The toy alien made a noise from the pressure of her grip. “He's fighting with Paladin D-”

 

“Shh! You don't _know_ that, and it'th none of our buthineth!” The tallest Squire scolded. “You'll get uth in trouble.”

 

“But he _always_ fights with Paladin Danse!” She protested.

 

Backhand could see she might have a situation on her hands if she didn't act quickly. “Easy guys, it's alright. I totally understand, grown-ups do weird stuff. This one time, I came across a Yao-Guai and I roared at it...” As she distracted them with an elaborate retelling of an _incredibly_ lucky incident, her mind wandered to what on earth might be happening on the command deck.

 

The matter-of-fact way that the Squire had said that Maxson _always_ fought with Danse sat wrong with her. Danse spoke so highly of Maxson, and it was clear that the Elder valued the Paladin and knew him personally enough to be interested in his field performance. _So why...?_ She hadn't exactly signed on for a _mystery_ , but if the Paladin was going to be sponsoring her that almost guaranteed a lot of close-quarters work.

 

She got the feeling she was in for some old-school, _classic_ power play antics. The thought filled her with muted irritation (because _really it's been two hundred-something years and humanity hasn't moved past that?_ ) but that was quickly swallowed by concern. How long had this been going on for? Was the Paladin the only victim or were there more beleaguered soldiers on this tub?

 

“ _Welcome aboard, Knight._ ”

 

His grin for her had been weathered, but still heartfelt. The Paladin didn't seem to have an insincere or dishonest bone in his body, very much in line with what she had originally thought about him. Backhand squared her shoulders. Time for that physical, and then she needed to report to...Lancer. Lancer-Kells somebody.

 

...

 

Danse sat on his cot, the numerous sets of holotags dangling from his fingertips. He absently toyed with them while he listened to the tapes, the empty feeling in his chest eating away at him. It wasn't that he didn't trust Vega, but he hardly wanted to hand the tapes over to Kells without making sure they were of _actual_ importance.

 

“- _ambushed on the road, we're outnumbered five to one--Varham, report!_ ” Paladin Brandis barked.

 

“ _Core's down to five percent sir!_ ”

 

“ _We'll have to scuttle the Armor, we can't let them have_ -”

 

A gunshot cracked, making Danse flinch, and Knight Astlin shouted, “ _Varham!_ ” while Brandis swore. Danse had a sneaking suspicion that this was the hardly the beginning of the troubles for Recon Squad Artemis.

 

“ _Get to the bunker up north...the code will be our call sign..._ ”

 

The second tape held the last words of Knight Tara Astlin. She sounded like she couldn't believe that this had happened to her, trapped in the National Guard Training Yard building like a rat in a cage. “ _My orders were to hold this position at all costs. The entire site has been overrun. The door won't last...Paladin Brandis, sir. It's been an honor, sir._ ”

 

Scribe Faris just seemed horrified and overwhelmed, his speech faltering due to his mortal wound. “ _...can't staunch the bleeding...Brandis, if you get this, I hope you made it back to Astlin in time...there was nothing you could do for me..._ ”

 

The Paladin ran his hand through his hair, inhaling shakily. The tags clicked and jangled quietly in his grip and Danse found himself shifting a little, back and forth with the motion of the Prydwen.

 

The tapes played out like some fragmented horror story. This _easily_ could have been his own squadron, their struggles and losses eerily parallel. Danse’s eyes were dry but his throat ached with tears. Whenever these things happened he wished he was made out of stone, or metal. Something that had about as much humanity as his Power Armor, something that couldn’t be frazzled by such base emotions. He doubted himself all the more when he couldn’t keep a tight handle on his feelings, and it had stung him far more than he wanted to admit when Maxson pointed that out.

 

The Brotherhood Creed, a written piece that every ranking individual of the Brotherhood memorized, was what Danse always found himself reciting in his times of weakness. Like a prayer or mantra, he drew strength and reassurance from the familiar words.

 

If there was a knock on his door he didn't hear it, so thorough was his fixation on the holotags that hung from his fist as he mouthed the Creed. The touch on his arm shocked him and Danse was moving before he was thinking, his hand wrapped around a smaller wrist and wrenching it to twist their arm behind their back-

 

- _breath came in short, harsh bursts. Need to regulate, save his strength. Sweat in his eyes. Hands shaking with exhaustion and_ Righteous Authority _weighed a thousand pounds. Ferals swarming them, wiry bodies rattling his Power Armor, Haylen screaming and Rhys’ desperate yell,_ 'no!', _Keane torn apart by the writhing horde of hungry creatures_ -

 

**I am a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. I have sworn an oath to protect my sisters and brothers with my skills, my weapons, and my body.**

 

- _Worwick pleading,_ _ **wailing**_ _for death and then lapsing into that ugly half-silence, the wheezing stridor from his throat the only sound but it was no good, no good, forty-nine miserable hours with blood pooling slowly in his abdominal cavity and Danse refused to let his suffering continue,_ 'that’s an order, Scribe'-

 

**I will always place the mission first. I will never accept defeat. I will never quit. I will never leave behind a fallen comrade.**

 

- _Brach not even having the guts left to draw breath, his limbs mangled and destroyed from a catastrophic encounter with a landmine, bled out in minutes while Danse stood over him and Haylen feverishly performed emergency interventions and Molotovs shattered on his Armor, bullets and hellfire from Corvega_ -

 

**I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my Paladin role.** **I stand ready to deploy, engage and destroy the enemies of the Brotherhood of Steel in close combat.**

 

- _Dawes, Dawes, his head taken clean off by a single blow from a giant sledgehammer, the mutant screeching in triumph and Danse beating the oversized creature's face in with the butt of his rifle, Dawes' blood coating his gauntlets as he gritted his teeth but he couldn't keep from emptying his stomach when the fight was over, he wanted to scream it was too_ _ **much-**_

 

' _You're sending us to_ _ **die**_ _, Arthur._ '

 

' _I'm well aware of that, Paladin. The Brotherhood will honor your memory._ '

 

“Danse.” The voice was a little strained, wasn't Maxson. “ _Danse_.” A labored-sounding swallow, the noise loud in his ear. “Paladin, it’s only me. It’s only me. You’re okay. You’re on your blimp thing, you’re in your quarters and it’s just me. Open your eyes, Danse.”

 

He knew that voice. _When did I close my eyes?_ Danse opened them again and he instantly felt like a fool. He had Vega’s arm caught up behind her back in an iron stranglehold. To her credit though, she didn’t seem to have lost her composure. _Unlike a certain Paladin_. Danse hastily let her go, lurching back on unsteady legs. “I…I’m sorry.” He choked out. “Rhys and Haylen know not to touch me. I apologize for not informing you of…of my issue.” His breathing had gone shallow, the air suddenly thick and difficult to inhale.

 

“Hey, now I know. You don’t need to apologize. I shouldn’t have come in when you didn’t answer.” She rubbed her shoulder, probably working the blood back down to her fingers. “Lancer...no, Lancer- _Captain_ Kells wanted me to fetch you because of the tapes. I mean, not me specifically, he was gonna’ have a Squire do it but I told him I would because I have to learn the ship somehow right? I got lost twice, won’t lie.” She shrugged. “Place is a maze to me. Couldn’t find Proctor Quinlan until a Scribe basically took my hand and led me to him. He’s got a cute cat though. I bet that little furball gets heaps of attention from all the troops.”

 

She was giving him time to collect himself, Danse realized with a flash of gratitude. “I’ve told the Proctor that he needs to start renting Emmett out for therapy sessions. He’d make a fortune.” He cleared his throat. “I uh, I suppose I’d better report to Kells. I promised him this intel.”

 

“Paladin I…I know I’m under your command at this point and this may be overstepping my limits as your subordinate, but if you ever need to speak to someone…y’know, off the record, I’m here for you sir.” She tapped her chest, the salute no longer off-center. “You and Dogmeat saved my life. So whatever you need is a priority.”

 

“That’s a very generous offer, Knight Vega.” Danse studied her for a minute. “I understand that you of all people probably know about post traumatic stress.”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

“In the past, I’ve always spoken to Knight-Captain Cade when it gets to be too much.” Danse admitted. “Usually he is able to help me think through the situations, put a few demons to rest.” He shook his head, feeling disgusted with himself. “Enough moping. I'm sure Kells is frothing for this intel.”

 

…

 

Paladin Brandis was theirs to locate. Her first assignment as a Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel and she had already collected most of the puzzle pieces. Backhand could barely believe her luck, pretty certain she had amused the stony Lancer-Captain by _thanking_ him for her orders. Danse had chuckled quietly but given no other indicator that she had done anything out of the ordinary.

 

After that was getting measured up, Danse and Proctor Ingram giving her a thorough run down on Power Armor advances while Backhand in turn got to share a few stories from her time in the service. Like back when the limb actuators were new technology and soldiers kept accidentally tearing their muscles because the machinery could outstrip them so quickly. There was always the _hysterical_ tale of that young man in her squadron who had gotten his genitals trapped in one of his pauldron holes during a ' _late night greasing session_ '.

 

Ingram laughed until she cried when Danse grimaced and reached up to map the circumference of one of the holes with his finger, returning with a severely _lacking_ amount of wiggle room.

 

“Yeah, we all ribbed him pretty good but he was a decent sport about it. I can't say nobody else did it, just that he was the only one that got stuck. And of course his name was Ricardo, so we _had_ to razz him with the new title of Big Dick Rick.” Backhand snorted, recalling Rick's flush every time someone yelled it across the mess tent.

 

“I'm sure we all have stories to tell about the more genius members of our squadrons.” Ingram roughly knocked her shoulder into Danse's. “What's all this I hear about Haylen and Rhys, anyhow? You know there's bets riding on them and you promised to keep up the flow of intel.”

 

“I merely wished to respect their privacy.” The Paladin mumbled, seeming uncomfortable. “They're both incredible assets to our cause. I don't want them being harassed.”

 

“But they're...” Ingram trailed off, looking at something over Danse's shoulder. “Elder Maxson, sir! What brings you to my grease pit?”

 

“The Paladin.” Maxson replied shortly, jerking his chin at Danse. “Come with me, soldier. Ad Victoriam, Proctor. Knight.” With a curt nod at the both of them and nary a sound from Danse, Maxson turned and left just as abruptly with the larger man in tow.

 

“Danse is your sponsor, yeah?” Ingram asked quietly once the two men were out of earshot. Backhand nodded, still reeling a bit at the sudden arrival and departure of the Elder. “Do me a favor and try to limit his time on board this rustbucket, okay? I don't know what's going on and it's not my place to ask. But Danse is a good man and he shouldn't be getting jerked around, Elder or no.” Ingram narrowed her eyes.

 

“What do you mean?” Backhand asked, her heart tripping in her chest.

 

“Ah, nothin'. Just rambling, I guess. C’mon, we still have to make sure the pelvis on your suit fits alright. Don't want your short and curlies gettin' pinched.”

 

…

 

What Elder Maxson wanted, Elder Maxson would get. It was irrelevant what the Paladin thought, whether he protested or not. Danse had learned years ago that his 'no' meant precious little when Arthur decided he needed something.

 

At this point Danse just followed Maxson silently to his quarters, a momentary hot flash of shame quivering in his stomach as he wondered what Backhand must be thinking right now. He couldn't deny his Elder, though. As a soldier of the Brotherhood it was his _responsibility_ to obey his orders without question, and Lord knows he'd done plenty of questioning today. Maybe he could make up for it now.

 

Arthur didn't even have to ask Danse to get undressed anymore, merely gesturing at the table while he stripped off his battle coat. Danse obediently shifted the various papers and maps aside, a little worried at the lack of interest he felt. Normally the act of pleasing his Elder was at least good in the sense that he felt needed or like he was helping. Sure, Danse was a little out of it _mentally_ , but as long as he got into it physically that was all Maxson needed, right?

 

Maxson's mouth on his own dismissed his thoughts, the harsh demand of Arthur's fingers raking across his ribs like he was trying to draw blood. Danse winced in pain and Maxson's teeth closed down on his lower lip, iron taste bitter on Danse's tongue as his skin split. It had been quite a while since their last engagement; unfortunately Maxson seemed exactly the same as before. Danse still wasn't sure whether it was his fault for wanting to be needed, or whether he was being taken advantage of by an officer that outranked him.

 

“Sir-”

 

“Don’t speak, Paladin.” Maxson grunted. “You know it’s better if you keep your mouth shut.” His hands greedily dragged through Danse’s shaggy hair. “You know I can’t stand your stupid rambling.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Danse replied softly, the shame in his stomach kindling a little brighter. But he was a good soldier, and he would help his Elder to the best of his abilities.

 

Maxson had obviously already been at himself earlier, which would explain his frustration and poor temper (to an extent). Danse found his entrance slick and ready for him when Arthur propped himself up on the table. The Elder’s shirt was still mostly buttoned, his pants around his knees like he couldn’t be bothered to shove them down any further and his cock hard and leaking on his stomach. Danse took in the sight of the other man sprawled out on his back and he felt a faint twinge of worry for his superior. “Sir, are-”

 

Maxson growled in irritation and palmed Danse's flaccid cock through his pants. “Paladin, if it doesn’t have to do with you pushing your dick into me and fucking me until I _finally_ come, I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“…Understood.” Danse fumbled to unbutton his uniform pants, two fingers of his free hand slowly pressing into Maxson to prepare him (and buy Danse some time).

 

Arthur threw an arm over his eyes, a desperate sound wrenching from his throat as Danse carefully scissored his fingers and stroked his inner walls. The Paladin abandoned trying to get his pants off in favor of spitting into his palm and beginning to lazily tug on Maxson’s cock. “Paladin that’s f… _fuck_.” Maxson’s protest died in a moan of arousal and Danse knew he had him when Arthur started thrusting into his hand. He breathed a mental sigh of relief, just letting Arthur fuck his fist and pull his hair while he quickened his pace with his fingers in the younger man.

 

Danse wanted to help Maxson. Hell, he wanted to _fix_ Maxson, that’s why he continued to do this even though the past month had been more than enough proof that Maxson didn’t give a good goddamn about his well-being. _Of course_. The burden of leadership sat heavy on Arthur’s shoulders, it always had. Danse could still recall the first time they had engaged in this...whatever it was. Maxson, years younger, flushed and pleading, ‘ _Jesus Christ, Danse, I haven’t slept in almost a week_ ’. Danse reluctant, but always so willing to do anything to help his friend, his new Elder. He needed to sleep? ‘ _Whatever you need, Maxson_.’

 

He could hardly believe how bitter those words sat in his mouth now, as Maxson bucked underneath his ministrations and gasped out into the heated air between them. Danse kissed the inside of Maxson’s thigh, the jut of his hip, his stomach. Arthur loathed it when he would kiss him but the younger man was obviously too far gone at this point to care, weakly groaning and pushing himself against Danse’s hands.

 

“Shh, I’ve got you.” Danse soothed, pain jolting through him when Arthur grabbed a handful of his hair and _yanked_ it hard.

 

“Shut the fuck up and make me come.” Maxson snarled, his teeth bared in threat. Danse bit his lip, forgetting that Maxson had already done him that favor earlier. At his flinch and sharp exhale Maxson chuckled breathlessly and used his thumb to wipe off some of the blood that dribbled down Danse’s chin. “Make me come, Paladin. That’s an order.” He demanded, smearing the blood back over Danse’s split lip.

 

Danse was a fool for ever thinking that there would be anything more to their interactions than this... _frenzied_ pawing at each other. He knew that. But his stupid, thick-headed heart begged for the day when he would be pulled close, thanked in a voice that didn't reek of hypocrisy. Just the idea of being touched or held tenderly made Danse’s pulse race, the older man so resigned to being used in this rough manner that he barely dared to think about it, lest he go to pieces.

 

Danse worked his fingers rapidly in and out of Maxson’s body, noticing the sweat that coated Arthur’s skin. He was close, then. The younger man’s body curled and writhed underneath Danse, wordlessly begging for his release. The Paladin wasn’t sure what possessed him to reach up but he did before he could think about it, catching Maxson’s chin in a fierce grip and refusing to let him pull free. This anger _hurt_ , tightening his fingers to dig into Arthur's skin.

 

“You _will_ look at me, Arthur.” Danse snarled, wishing he could keep his voice calm and level effortlessly, wishing that he wasn’t so obviously affected by the distance of a man he once called his friend.

 

“Paladin what the _hell-?_ ” Maxson shoved him away, almost fully disengaging their bodies. Fingers clawed into the bare skin of Danse’s shoulder as Arthur, as his _Elder_ stared at him. And oh _no_ , oh no, what had he done?

 

“Elder Maxson, I-” Danse began to explain, tried to apologize. But then Maxson gave him a solid push, knocking him back a step.

 

“How _dare_ you.” Elder Maxson hissed.

 

“Elder _please_ , I-”

 

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Paladin? You _know_ how this works, you insubordinate-” Maxson sputtered for a few seconds, obviously infuriated beyond words. “What the _fuck?_ ”

 

“Maxson, just...I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sorry. Please let me finish.” Danse gingerly rested his forehead against Maxson's shoulder. “I'm sorry. I don't know what happened.” _Don't do this to me, Arthur_.

 

Hands carded through his hair, settling into a firm grip at the nape of his neck. “Consider this a warning, Paladin. You're on notice. Now _get me off_.” Maxson ordered, his voice dangerously irritated.

 

_No! Look at me, Arthur! Do I look like I want this?_

 

“...Yes, sir.” Danse took Maxson's cock back into his hand, just staring blankly down and watching his fingers move, watching Arthur's hips rock and twitch with every motion. It wasn't so bad if he didn't pay attention to the fact that he was being used by his commanding officer. _Maxson likes it and that's really all that matters_ , he reasoned.

 

Hell, maybe Knight Vega would come crashing through the door without knocking again ( _she did knock earlier, you were busy being broken_ ). Danse couldn't help a little hiccup of laughter at the mental image of Backhand throwing open the door and finding them in this incredibly compromising position. Arthur looked _ridiculous_ , his face all red and body sweaty. The idea lifted his mood a bit, distracting him from the way Maxson's breathing quickened and his groans grew louder.

 

The Paladin was almost caught off-guard by Maxson coming, feeling him throb and quickly wrapping his mouth around the head of Maxson's cock to swallow his release. Arthur cried out, half-sitting up to thrust his dick further into Danse's mouth and nearly choke him. But Danse knew better than to fight it at this point because then Maxson absolutely _would_ choke him, so he did his best to relax his throat.

 

Maxson cupped Danse's face, breathing hard. “That's right, you take it all now.” He crooned, giving a long, low groan of completion as he came. “Swallow that down.”

 

Danse did as he was told, his stomach in knots while the familiar taste flooded his tongue. Maxson slumped forward over him with a grunt, draping his arms over Danse's shoulders and digging his fingernails into the other man's back to teasingly drag them upwards. Danse shuddered violently, getting to his feet once Maxson was done.

 

“You're dismissed, Paladin. As usual, stellar work.” The Elder smirked, putting a hand in the middle of Danse's chest and then pushing him away again. “Ad Victoriam.”

 

“Ad Victoriam, Elder.” Danse replied dully, struggling to pull his shirt back on and leave as fast as possible. He felt _filthy_ , like the idea that he was a means to an end had finally struck him. His stomach churned and his whole body was drawn taut, inches from exploding or collapsing and Danse just needed to get to his quarters, _now_.

 

He closed the door of his cabin behind him and slid to the floor, legs stretched out in front of him and arms folded across his chest. The only silver lining here was that tomorrow he would depart this damned ship with Knight Vega to search for Paladin Brandis, or what was left of him. _This is it_ , he told himself firmly. Tonight was the last night that he was falling for Maxson's antics. The realization that he was being used under the pretense of being _helpful_ or _a good soldier_ soured his brief flash of determination and Danse pulled his legs up to rest his forehead on his knees.

 

A knock on his door interrupted his silent staring contest with his fatigues and Danse pulled himself upright. “Yes...?” He began as he opened the door, trailing off when he saw Backhand standing there.

 

“Paladin, I-- _what_ happened to your mouth?” Backhand asked in concern, making Danse cover his split lip self-consciously.

 

“I uh, I bumped it.” He lied, wincing at how stupid he sounded. _What the hell could you have bumped it_ _ **on**_ _, idiot?!_

 

“You need to ice that, it looks like you ' _bumped_ ' a Deathclaw.” Vega said after a minute of silence, blue eyes narrowed to squint at him from behind her thick glasses.

 

“Don't worry about it, not an issue. What was it that you needed?” Danse waved off her worry, doing his best to appear nonchalant.

 

“Oh! Lancer-Captain Kells gave me these documents to run to you, requisition forms to finalize for Proctor...” She paused, her eyebrows drawn together as she searched for the name. “Teagan! Proctor Teagan.”

 

“ _Yes_.” Danse said excitedly, swiping the sheets from her hands and leafing through them. “All the laser rifle mods I requested.” He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Maxson hadn't intercepted her to gain more leverage over him.

 

“You ready for tomorrow, sir?” Backhand asked, grinning up at him.

 

“Wouldn't miss it for the world, Knight.” He couldn't help smiling back, the unsettling interaction with his Elder paling in comparison to having that level of joy aimed at him. It definitely didn't make him want to kiss her again.

 

_Definitely not._

 

“I'll see you bright and early then, Paladin!”

 

“Naturally. Ad Victoriam, Knight Vega.”

 


	4. Finding Brandis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there everyone! This is one of two updates today (the chapter was really long). That being said, I hope you enjoy!

Paladin Logan Danse, pride of the Brotherhood, found himself incredibly nervous as he watched Backhand suit up for the first time. She gave him no real _reason_ to be, of course, climbing into her Power Armor with veteran grace. She had forgone their jumpsuit in favor of her Vault suit so she was short a few of the securing clips, but it was her call. She _did_ put on a hood, though, stating that she wasn’t a fan of getting chunks of her hair ripped out by the helmet.

 

Danse barely hid his grin at the way she shook herself all over once she was in the suit, metal clanking loudly as pieces fell into place. “What do you think, Knight Vega?” He asked cautiously.

 

“I think I’m gonna’ have a lot of fun with this.” Backhand sounded like she was smiling.

 

Proctor Ingram sighed. “Yeah yeah, just try not to fuck up your actuators. Damn kids and your Prydwen jumps.”

 

Danse flipped his helmet and smoothly clicked it into place in his suit’s gorget, then blinked in confusion at the HUD. “Proctor, did you change the-”

 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry Danse. The yellow HUD makes me queasy.” Ingram apologized. Danse sighed, bringing up the internal options screen and readjusting the HUD color back to the warm amber he preferred. “Don’t be that way, Paladin, I have to look at a million of these helmets every day.”

 

“What? How do you change the…oh, I got it.” Backhand paused, obviously fiddling with the HUD in her own suit. “ _Purple_.” She said firmly.

 

Danse tried to mask his chuckle by clearing his throat, but the look Ingram shot him told him the attempt was unsuccessful. “Well, uh, I think it’s about time we begin our maneuvers.” He said hurriedly.

 

“You two take as _long_ as you need. Bring Brandis back safe. Backhand, remember what I told you.” Ingram said sternly, saluting the two of them.

 

Backhand nodded solemnly, returning the salute. “Ad victoriam, Proctor Ingram.” Danse saluted as well, curious about Ingram's mysterious statement.

 

Maxson hadn’t cleared them for Vertibird transport to a general location. Danse could see why to an extent, the Elder probably needed all the aerial support he could get while they sent out scouts to find more clues about the Institute. The reason Maxson _had_ given was...still logical, but a little different.

 

“ _With you on foot, there will be less warning for Brandis._ ” Arthur had said in his briefing, arms behind his back as always. “ _If he_ _ **is**_ _alive, we don’t know what shape he’ll be in mentally. Use extreme caution. If you fear for your lives, do not hesitate to kill him_.” He glared at Danse when he said that and Danse had swallowed hard.

 

_Do not hesitate_. _Do not hesitate_ _like you did with Cutler, Paladin_.

 

Danse let Backhand set a pace she was comfortable with once they were on the ground and he followed her lead, the paladin silent as they marched. His thoughts churned and roiled, scratching to escape his head in a frenzy of uncertainty. He almost didn’t notice Backhand _skipping_ , aside from how ridiculously loud her sabatons were on the remains of the road. “Knight Vega, what on _earth_.”

 

“ _Finally!_ I’ve been trying to ask you something for five minutes. Figured I would opt for a different approach.” She laughed, knuckling his shoulder with her gauntlet. “After we find Paladin Brandis, I have-”

 

“ _If_ we find Paladin Brandis.” Danse corrected her grimly.

 

Backhand paused, tilting her head to the side. “Sir?”

 

“I said, _if_ we find Brandis. There’s no guarantee that he’s alive after all this time. It’s entirely possible that we’re simply on a remains retrieval detail.” Danse warned her.

 

Backhand shook her head after a moment. “Paladin, you _really_ think I don’t know that? Damn.” She grumbled. “You’d rather find him alive, right? That’s the hope?” Danse nodded reluctantly. Brandis was an incredibly skilled survivalist, a respected squadron leader and free thinker of the highest caliber. He would be a phenomenal asset to the Brotherhood if…

 

If he was still alive.

 

“I apologize for my pessimistic outlook.” Danse said after a moment. “I have not had…exceptional luck when it comes to search and rescue details.”

 

“Hey, first time for everything.” He was almost positive that she was grinning at him under her helmet. “You’ve got _me_ here. You can't say the homeland doesn't take care of their own; I’m practically the _embodiment_ of a four-leaf clover.”

 

“We can hope.” Danse murmured, half to himself. “You certainly came through previously.”

 

“Maybe I’m your good luck charm.”

 

The notion that he had outlived his men because of _luck_ left a bitter taste in Danse’s mouth and he fell silent once more. She at least seemed to understand not to poke him and simply carried on down the road at an easily-managed pace.

 

Danse couldn’t decide whether he personally wanted to find Brandis or not. On the one hand, of _course_ he was a valuable asset. But on the other, Brandis had a penchant for… _noticing_ things. Arthur had butted heads with the older man numerous times, usually over what Maxson labeled ‘ _trivial issues_ ’.

 

And Danse still hadn’t forgotten the nasty rumors he’d heard about the _real_ reason for Recon Squadron Artemis being sent to scout the Commonwealth…

 

“ _Brandis overreaches, connects well with young recruits. The Elder fears his influence._ ”

 

“ _Brandis was sent to die and you know it!_ ”

 

The atmosphere in the barracks had turned ugly fast when Arthur had dropped the tidbit that the Brotherhood lost contact with Squadron Artemis almost _immediately_ upon their arrival in the Commonwealth.

 

Aspirants got into shouting matches; several scuffles broke out. Danse ended up wading through the midst of a pitched fistfight, throwing one Knight over his shoulder and pinning the other beneath his arm momentarily.

 

“ _This is behavior unbecoming of a soldier, Knights!_ ” He had shouted over the ruckus. “ _Stop the childish antics, use your brains and_ _ **think!**_ ” His voice carried in the cramped bunk room, and due to his massive height he was easily visible through the swirling hurricane of young men and women. “ _Paladin Brandis would be ashamed of every one of you for losing sight of what is truly important in the Brotherhood! Your brothers and sisters are all you have in the world, you_ _ **cannot**_ _set into them at the first sign of trouble!_ ”

 

“ _Elder Maxson_ _ **wanted**_ _Paladin Brandis to die!_ ” One brave Scribe cried. “ _That’s why he sent him!_ ”

 

“ _He is the Elder and you will show him the respect he deserves!_ ” Danse admonished the young man. “ _I will not tolerate this insubordination!_ ”

 

“ _You’re only on his side because you’re_ _ **fucking**_ _him!_ ” The Knight over his shoulder yelled furiously, beating his fists against Danse’s shoulder blade.

 

The entirety of the barracks went dead quiet and Danse was certain his face must have been an ungodly shade of purple from his insinuation. “ _ **What**_ _did you just say, Knight?_ ”

 

The young man slowed to a stop, and then suddenly burst into tears. Danse set him down on his feet and the Knight stood in front of him, his shoulders hunched. “ _I ap-pologize, Palad-d-din Danse sir._ ” He had hiccupped, saluting him without looking up.

 

“ _Knight, you cannot lash out with harsh words or actions just because something isn’t going your way._ ” Danse had known he was letting him off too easy, but the young Knight was still weeping. “ _You will go to Knight-Captain Cade in the morning. He is…far better at managing situations like these than I am. I fear I will do nothing but cause more damage._ ”

 

“ _Paladin Danse, have they told_ _ **you**_ _anything about Paladin Brandis? Anything at all?_ ” A tiny Squire had piped up from the door, her hair already braided for sleep.

 

Danse shook his head regretfully. “ _All I know is what you’ve already been told. I have no other information at this time_.”

 

“ _Will…will you tell us if you learn anything new?_ ” She had continued hesitantly, glancing up at the Aspirant holding her hand for confirmation. Murmuring rippled through the crowd, all eyes on Danse as he stood there silent, stoic. The Knight's words echoed in his mind over and over, _on his side, on his side..._

 

“ _You have my word as a Brotherhood Paladin, Squire_.”

 

It had been a simple thing to promise then. Almost _negligibly_ simple. Danse shook his head, trying to disperse the memories. This rumination would get him nowhere. Thank goodness he had Knight Vega with him, at least she could keep an eye out for threats while he wandered down his proverbial Memory Lane.

 

Speaking of Knight Vega…

 

Danse swung his head around, perplexed. She had _just_ been here, it wasn’t exactly like she could _sneak_ in all that plating. He spotted her finally as he came over the next rise in the road. She appeared to be speaking to a civilian, the ragged-looking man gesturing wildly off to the side.

 

“…idea how many of them there are in the facility?” Backhand was asking.

 

“Usually we only see three to five, b-but sometimes there’s loads more! Hounds too! Please, General, if you can spare the men, we really need your help.” The man begged.

 

_General?_ Danse thought with confusion. _Why is he calling her General?_

 

“Currently, we’re focusing our efforts on rebuilding Fort Independence…er, I mean, the Castle. We have mobile cells but they are few and far between. I will send word that-” Backhand was cut off by the man shaking his head rapidly.

 

“I knew it, I _knew_ you would refuse! That’s how it always is! Say anything about super mutants and _everyone_ pusses out!” The man shook his fist in Backhand’s impassive face. “I had hoped that _you_ of all people would be able to help us, but I guess I was wrong.” He spat. “Should have known better than to trust things would be alright with _your_ group back on the playing field.”

 

Danse had heard enough, practically stomping down the road towards the man yelling at his charge. “Civilian, I _suggest_ you watch your tone.” He uttered the words curtly, his eyes narrowed behind his visor.

 

The man huffed out a breath at him, obviously unimpressed. “So you have a _bodyguard_ now, General?”

 

“Hardly.” Backhand replied dryly.

 

Danse got the feeling he had just been insulted, but he brushed it off. “Where is the nest of vermin?” He queried instead, making a considerable effort to try and keep his tone neutral. “You mentioned super mutants.”

 

“They’re in Weston. The pre-war water treatment plant. Are… _you’re_ going to help?” The man asked uncertainly.

 

“There are other, more important matters that currently take priority, civilian. When we have the time, we will investigate. Now I would advise you be on your way before I have to _assist_ you in making the choice of departure.” Danse ordered, his laser rifle not _quite_ at the ready, but high enough that to the untrained eye it would look like he was poised to strike.

 

The man grumbled something under his breath and then announced, “I'd _better_ see you later, General. Oberland would be a good spot to spiff up, y'know, but it's so close to Weston no one will touch it.”

 

“Thank you, Rob. Hey, tell your wife I said hello. I hope your little one is doing well.” Backhand's face had gone strangely soft.

 

For some reason, the man's shoulders relaxed. “She is, she's doing really good. Her mom is teachin' her everything that she knows. She's wicked smart for her age.” He bragged.

 

“No doubt there. Take care of yourself, and tell people to steer clear until we can get to Weston.” Backhand gave the man a nod in reply to the tip of his hat. “Thanks for helping.” She said out of the corner of her mouth to Danse, who straightened up.

 

“I don’t recall doing anything helpful, Knight Vega.” He was startled when she knocked her pauldron against his own in a playful gesture.

 

“Rob loves to puff himself up and talk about how no one’s ever done anything for him ever. It’s harmless, but he’ll drag on for _ages_ unless you nip it in the bud.” She grinned at him. “Thanks for going on the offensive and heading him off at the pass. Lots of people are like him out here. When the Minutemen disbanded, it meant that the simple people had to take the full load of raider assaults and super mutant attacks. Still plenty of distrust for me and my crew.”

 

“Your ‘crew’?” Danse echoed, thoroughly confused. _Why did he call her General? What is she talking about?_

 

Backhand just nodded, putting her helmet back on. “You want to take point? You were kind of spacing out back there, Paladin. Might help you get centered. Run down the list of objectives?” She suggested.

 

“I must be worse than I thought if _you_ noticed my thousand-yard stare.” Danse realized it was a sarcastic quip the second _after_ the words left his mouth, and he felt horribly awkward.

 

That is, until there was an undignified guffaw from the Knight. She clunked her whole forearm against his own in a makeshift nudge, still snickering. “How incredibly rude of you, Paladin! I’ve got _bad_ eyesight, but it’s still there. Kinda’. Didn’t need twenty-twenty to see that you were deep in thought.”

 

“Knight Vega, I appreciate your attention to detail. And…” Danse hesitated, biting his lip. “And thank you for… _humoring_ my wandering mind.”

 

“I’m not _humoring_ anything. You’ve been through a lot recently and you’ve had no breathing room at all. You’re allowed to have time to process.” When she put it like _that_...

 

Danse made a noise of acknowledgement. Backhand cleared her throat, stepping aside and letting him go ahead of her.

 

…

 

_Do me a favor and try to limit his time on board this rustbucket, okay? I don't know what's going on and it's not my place to ask. But Danse is a good man and he shouldn't be getting jerked around, Elder or no._

 

Ingram's words spurred Backhand to speak up. “Paladin Danse, sir?” When he turned to face her, she wished that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. “Sir, I meant what I said before.”

 

“What?”

 

“When I said I was available if you needed someone to talk to. I’m serious. It’ll all be off the record, just between us. The only person I report to is you.” Backhand said firmly.

 

“And the Elder.” Danse reminded her, his voice soft.

 

“Nope.” Backhand grinned, trying to lighten his obviously bleak mood. “Just you. _You_ might answer to the Elder, but I don’t.”

 

“That’s tantamount to treason, Knight.”

 

“He’s not a _sovereign_ , for--”

 

“Elder Maxson’s orders are law in this chapter of the Brotherhood, Knight Vega.” Danse sounded like he was repeating the words from memory, clearly used to defending the young Elder. “I suggest you cease your needlessly-flippant flouting of Brotherhood practices.”

 

Backhand knew she was on thin ice. “Of course, sir. I apologize. Forgive me my misstep.” She saluted loosely. “My previous military experiences were a little more lax. When out on patrol we spoke to each other and our superiors as equals. It was common to poke fun at the higher-ups, as well.”

 

“I wouldn’t begrudge you a joke or two, but not at the expense of the Elder.” Danse said shortly. “He works exceptionally hard to keep everything in line and running smoothly. I will not tolerate any disrespect towards him.”

 

“Understood, Paladin.” Her suspicion only thickened at Danse’s rebuke. _What is Maxson doing to him?_ Normally, soldiers gleefully took the opportunity to joke about their superiors. But Danse was acting like it was a cardinal sin to so much as _tease_ about the young Elder. No wonder Ingram had told her to take her time. Danse was obviously kept on an incredibly short leash. The longer he was away from Maxson, the better.

 

They continued down the road in silence for nearly an hour before Danse finally sighed heavily. “Knight Vega, I must apologize again. You were not raised in the Brotherhood, it’s not as if you would know any better. My shortness of temper is unrelated to you.”

 

“It’s okay. You’re worried about Brandis, right?” Backhand asked. “A little scared, a little hopeful?”

 

“For being a relic of a bygone age, you are remarkably perceptive.” Backhand sputtered a little at being called a _relic_ but Danse carried on gravely, “I am concerned about the state Brandis may be in when we reach him. If he is mentally compromised…dealing with a man who was Brotherhood but has lost his senses is not a task I take lightly.” He turned to her. “The younger recruits _love_ Brandis. He was a father figure to a multitude of them.”

 

“You promised them you would bring him back.” She realized. Danse didn’t reply immediately, instead focusing his attention to the road in front of them.

 

“I could not feasibly promise anything.” He muttered, quiet enough that she wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear him. “It was not within my power to promise.”

 

“But you did anyway. On that slim hope that Brandis was alive and in one piece.” Backhand’s heart ached as she thought of the Paladin trying to decide what to tell a group of young recruits, a group of _kids_.

 

“…Yes, Knight. I did.” Danse admitted after a long pause. “My motivations are irrelevant. I lied to children, because I…I cannot see the little ones as soldiers. They begged for news of Brandis and I had nothing to offer them except my word as a Paladin.”

 

“That’s okay.” Backhand said simply. “We’re going to find him.”

 

“I suppose we are.” Danse sounded a little surprised. His shoulders straightened up. “One way or another.”

 

The asphalt had dissolved into nothing a mile back, leaving the two of them to continue trekking through the wilderness on the remains of the flattened earth that was once a road. Backhand was used to the booby-trapped state of _everything_ at this point, so she didn’t even bat an eyelash when she heard the warning beep of a landmine.

 

Danse on the other hand stopped dead, helmet swinging rapidly back and forth as he tried to locate the mine before it went off. “Wait, Knight Vega-!” He began as she knelt, trailing off when he realized that she had deactivated the landmine. “Oh.”

 

“Impromptu bomb squad.” Backhand replied by way of explanation, tucking the salvaged mine into her satchel. “I got pretty good at working in gauntlets.”

 

His worry was touching all the same, the Paladin letting out an awkward chuckle. “Hell, maybe you _are_ lucky.” He shifted his weight nervously, pauldrons clattering in the relative stillness. “I should have known better than to think Brandis would make it easy. There’s a reason that old codger lived through everything.”

 

“Keep your eyes open for more and point them out if you see ‘em.” Backhand flexed her fingers experimentally. “These gauntlets are _way_ better than the ones in my old suit. The mines won’t know what hit them.” She grinned.

 

“Affirmative, Knight Vega.”

 

With both of them on guard, their progress was slowed somewhat. But they found three more mines thanks to their diligence, and Backhand carefully deactivated every one before the timer ran out. She was so focused on scanning the ground that she almost walked into Danse’s back when the Paladin stopped in the middle of the path. “Danse?” Inwardly, she cursed herself for not addressing him properly.

 

Danse didn’t even seem to notice though, his attention fixed on a bunker built into the side of the shallow valley they were in. “Recon bunker Theta…of _course_.” He hissed like he was talking to himself. “How could I have forgotten?”

 

“Is this the place?” Backhand asked, peering over his shoulder warily. Danse nodded, already striding towards the door of the bunker.

 

“It must be.”

 

…

 

There was a terminal affixed to the outer concrete of the building and the Paladin wasted little time painstakingly manipulating his huge gauntlets to press the correct keys on the keyboard. There was a loud _clunk!_ when the lock on the door disengaged, but the door itself remained shut tight. Danse swore under his breath, firmly rapping his knuckles on the metal door. “Paladin Brandis!” He called. “Can you hear me, sir?”

 

“Paladin Danse? Are you sure you should-” Backhand started to ask, sounding nervous.

 

“ _Quiet_ , Vega.” Danse ordered brusquely. To her credit, she immediately fell silent. He could still hear her shifting back and forth behind him though, and he wondered what on _earth_ could have her so antsy. Surely it couldn’t be that she was worried about what Brandis might do? “ _Paladin Brandis!_ If you’re in there-”

 

“Uh, D-Danse, I don’t think you should be so loud.”

 

“Vega, he _will not_ hear me otherwise.” Danse, losing his limited patience, hammered his fist on the door. “ _Brandis!_ ”

 

He heard a flurry of motion behind the door. “Who’s out there? How did you get that keycode? Never mind, never mind, just go away! I’m not letting you in here!”

 

Danse’s throat tightened at the elderly officer’s voice. “Paladin Brandis, _sir!_ It’s me, Pal--"

 

In his distress over finding Brandis, Danse had forgotten to be wary of his surroundings. Heavy footsteps shook the ground and Backhand’s cry of surprise was the only warning he had, the Paladin halfway through turning around when he was thrown against the door of the bunker by a thunderous blow from a Behemoth’s club. His shoulder protested violently at the rough treatment but Danse shrugged off the pain. He was so used to getting pummeled by the inside of his Armor, he practically anticipated the bruises. He raised his head and got a good eyeful of the ugly brute inches from his face.

 

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. There was a dull roaring in his ears, static pounding at his temples like a hammer while he stared at the creature and it stared right through him. Bloody spittle foamed around it’s mouth, eyes wide and pupils nothing but pinpricks. Nostrils flared to take in his scent.

 

_This_ _ **thing**_ _was once human_. Danse felt sick to his stomach.

 

“ _Paladin!_ ” Backhand yelled, firing a glancing shot off the beast’s shoulder that made it rear back. She was giving him time again, Danse realized dimly, his body refusing to cooperate as he remembered Dawes’ horrific death at the hands of a super mutant, remembered Cutler, _Cutler_ like a punch to the face. And this mutant was a _Behemoth_.

 

His laser rifle, unnamed as of yet, shook in one slack, trembling hand.

 

Backhand flanked the massive creature to end up back at his side, her pauldron clanking into his own. “Paladin!” She barked and Danse instantly straightened up, his grip snapping tight on his gun.

 

“Ma’am!”

 

“Attack the enemy, soldier!” She sounded almost like Krieg, all righteous authority and fury inches from detonation.

 

_An order, an order._ Danse felt his body refocus on the here and now, banishing the horrific images of Dawes’ demise for later contemplation. “Yes ma’am!” He replied automatically, pulling the trigger and spraying laser shots into the Behemoth’s massive chest. Backhand slung _Righteous Authority_ back out of the way to dangle from its strap, her shotgun in her hands now. Danse was so used to the comparatively quiet report of laser weaponry that he actually flinched when she fired the shotgun. The drum-fed gun bolted to life at her touch, heavy slugs making the Behemoth pause.

 

“ _Tora tora tora!_ ” Backhand shouted with the weapon, the word punctuating her shots. Danse got the feeling that pairing her with a Fatman would make her nigh unstoppable.

 

Behind him, he heard something swing open. _The door to the bunker!_ _Brandis!_ “Knight Vega, maintain this position!” He demanded, not bothering to look back.

 

“A Paladin…?” Brandis’ voice had an unfamiliar tremor in it.

 

“ _Now_ , Vega!” Danse snapped.

 

“Sir, yes sir!” Backhand replied quickly, sliding into place where he had been a second ago. Her Power Armor filled the doorway as well as his had, and Danse brandished his rifle. The Behemoth brayed deafeningly loud, seeming perturbed that it’s prey refused to cooperate.

 

“Not today, you giant freak!” Danse announced firmly.

 

…

 

Backhand had barely caught a glimpse of a worn face with an unkempt beard peering around the side of the doorway before she moved herself in front of the opening. She braced her shotgun against her plating and continued to hammer away at the Behemoth, shell after shell ripping the creature’s thick hide.

 

Danse kept up his own attack, a seemingly endless stream of mutant-related verbal abuse pouring from him in time with his laser shots. Backhand almost wished she could hear him clearer, certain that he was swearing a blue streak that could put Sergeant Cathan to shame.

 

That club swept low, knocked Danse’s legs out from beneath him. The Paladin landed on his back with a grunt of pain and the Behemoth (in a surprising show of intelligence) picked up one of the nearby boulders and dropped it onto Danse’s chest. Danse gritted out an infuriated curse and started struggling to lift the boulder, actuators in his armor shrieking under the strain when the Behemoth started pushing _down_ on the rock. Clearly it was either trying to crack Danse’s Armor or crush the Paladin inside it.

 

“Shut the door.” Backhand said calmly. There was the sound of fidgeting behind her. “It’s going to be alright. Just shut the door.”

 

At the loud _clunk!_ of the door closing, the Behemoth looked up from Danse. Backhand barely had a moment to inhale before she was snatched up by a massive hand, the creature roaring triumphantly.

 

“Knight Vega!” Danse shouted, the Paladin still trying to shift the massive rock enough to get free.

 

Backhand squirmed desperately in the beast’s grip, arms pinned to her sides and her shotgun pointed towards the ground. _Well kid, you gave it a good try_. She pumped her trigger out of desperation, not sure if she even had any shells left, and blew a hole through the Behemoth’s foot. The gargantuan mutant howled in pain, flinging her through the air when it toppled over. She hit the ground hard enough to lose consciousness briefly, her head slamming against the inside of the helmet.

 

When she blinked her eyes open again, all she could see was a Power Armor sabaton inches from her face. There was a muffled report to her right and super mutant skull fragments and brain tissue abruptly sprayed across her helmet visor. “ _Tango down_.” Danse snarled.

 

“Jesus.” Backhand muttered, her gauntlet clanking loudly against her helmet. “What a hit.”

 

“Are you injured, Knight?” Danse sounded like his teeth were clenched.

 

“Blacked out for a second is all. You alright?”

 

“That’s irrelevant. We need to see to Paladin Brandis.” Danse said sharply.

 

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard my name.” Said a quivering voice. “I imagine I’m hallucinating at this point. Going mad from seclusion.”

 

“It’s Danse, sir, Paladin Danse. Don’t you recognize me?” Danse asked, and Backhand was sure she wasn’t supposed to hear the uncertainty in his tone.

 

Danse pulled her to her feet and she took in the sight of the elderly man in badly-worn combat armor across from them. He was studying Danse hard, his eyes widening when Danse unfastened his helmet and took it off. “ _Danse?_ You…is it really you?” Brandis asked, his voice still shaking. “Oh my God, is it true?”

 

“It’s me, sir.” Danse replied stiffly. “Knight Vega and I were tasked with reacquiring you. Elder Maxson-”

 

“Maxson? It’s _his_ fault that I’m even…my squadron…” Brandis’ words grew disjointed, choked with emotion.

 

“ _The Elder_ believes that you are still a valuable asset to the war effort, Paladin Brandis.” If Danse had been stiff before, he was outright _stony_ now.

 

Brandis, entertainingly, waved off Danse’s chastising attitude. “Yes yes, praise be to the Elder. I suppose it’s you two that I ought to be thanking, though. After all, _you’re_ the ones who risked life and limb to come find me.”

 

“It was Knight Vega’s first assignment as a member of the Brotherhood. She was honored beyond measure.”

 

“I don’t suppose she can _talk_ , can she?” Brandis asked dryly. Backhand decided that she liked Brandis. “Why all this trouble for me, though? And so suddenly? I’ve been sending distress signals for _years_ , Danse.”

 

“It was only through sheer luck and our acquisition of Knight Vega’s skillset that we even managed to signal the Brotherhood for support.” Danse replied curtly. “Over half of Recon Squad Gladius is dead, their lives claimed in the line of duty. Much like your own squadron.”

 

“Oh, Danse.” Brandis said helplessly. “It’s such a heavy burden to carry. Their lives…and _Astlin_ , I know you were so fond of her.”

 

“She was a good soldier. Best marksman I knew.” Danse gritted out.

 

“I’ll bet she was an even better friend.” Backhand said tentatively.

 

“She died with honor.”

 

“I don’t doubt it.” What the hell was going on? Danse sounded _livid_ , the set of his shoulders visibly tense even through the Power Armor. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

 

“Danse, what does the Brotherhood even expect to get out of me? I’m too old, I’ve…I’ve been away for too long.” Brandis floundered.

 

“Elder Max-”

 

“ _Fuck_ Arthur, Danse!” Brandis exploded. “I’m asking _you_. What do _you_ believe that the Brotherhood can get out of me?”

 

“Intimate knowledge of the Commonwealth.” Danse snapped. “You’re a survivor, Brandis, and your skills could be indispensable to our troops.”

 

“There’s nothing I could teach that the locals couldn’t Danse, you _and_ Maxson know that.”

 

“Yes, and you’re not a _filthy_ local. You’re Brotherhood.”

 

“Am I?” Brandis mused, glancing towards Backhand. “And I’ll assume that Knight Vega is one of the so-called ‘ _filthy locals_ ’?”

 

Danse paused, his hand still up in the air in the beginning of an irritated gesture. Backhand barely kept her snort in check. “Knight Vega is a…special case.” He said finally.

 

“Typical Brotherhood. You’re filthy, you’re garbage, you’re _nothing_. And then, you’re a special case if you’re useful. Sound familiar, Danse?” Brandis grumbled. “Sleep with one eye open, Vega. Maxson is a little boy in a much larger man’s battle coat.”

 

“Paladin!” Danse barked. “There is no need for this insubordinate behavior in front of my ward!”

 

Brandis drew himself up to his full height (which, next to Danse in full Armor, wasn’t exactly _intimidating_ ) and jabbed his index finger into the larger Paladin’s breastplate. “Don’t you _dare_ speak to me about insubordination, Danse.” He hissed, his green eyes snapping with fury. “My squadron is _dead_ because of Arthur and you still want to play Lancelot?”

 

“The Brotherhood will honor their memory.” Danse intoned dully.

 

“I’ll honor _your_ memory if you keep this up, you damn fool.” Brandis growled. “No, _no_ , I won’t go back to that madman. Better that I stay in isolation.”

 

“I’m relatively certain that you staying here isn’t an option.” Backhand interjected. “Look, if the Elder is as tricky as you say, he’s not going to let you live out your days in peace. You’re Brotherhood, or you were once, and you know too much.” Danse looked horrified and Backhand hurried to finish, sure that her opening wouldn’t last. “You should be as close to him as possible, if anything. Make it more difficult for him to do something shady by keeping an eye on him.”

 

“Knight _Vega!_ ” Danse sputtered indignantly.

 

But Brandis was nodding his head, looking intently at her. “Take that helmet off, Vega. I make it a point to know my allies.”

 

“Yes sir.” Backhand undid the helm and pulled it over her head, tucking it under her arm as an afterthought. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

 

“You’re bleeding, Knight Vega.” Brandis pointed out after she saluted him and Danse fairly pounced on her, a huge finger looped through the pauldron on her shoulder jerking her around to face him. His gauntlet grazed her temple and she winced, grimacing when the metal returned brick-red.

 

“Just a scrape. I’ll be fine.”

 

“I’m certain you will, Knight. How long have you been in Danse’s care?” Brandis asked genteelly.

 

“Ah, about t…two, three days?” Backhand answered cautiously.

 

“But Danse said that-”

 

“Knight Vega did not immediately accept the offer. I imagine that our ranks did not strike her as particularly impressive.” Danse cut Brandis off, his tone _incredibly_ bitter.

 

“It wasn’t that. I had other obligations to deal with.” Backhand corrected him, trying to be gentle. “You guys were in a worse situation than most, but my responsibilities took me elsewhere.”

 

“True, I did not…I apologize, Knight Vega. That was unnecessarily harsh of me.” Danse admitted after a second.

 

“Be still my heart. You got him to _apologize!_ Never thought I’d see the day.” Brandis said with a hint of faked bewilderment. Backhand decided to keep the fact that Danse had apologized to her _three times_ in the same day to herself. “Alright Danse, I’ll return to that _rustbucket_. But only because Knight Vega makes an excellent point.”

 

“Shall I signal us a Vertibird?” Danse asked, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

 

“ _Ha!_ And let Maxson get the drop on me? No, no, it’ll be better for me to show up on foot, alone. Provided you two have been discreet, this place will still serve its purpose as a fallback point. I’ll meander for a few days and then make my way…hmm.” Brandis’ eyes rested on Backhand.

 

“Can I loan you my suit for your journey if you won’t accept an escort?” Backhand offered, following his train of thought. “My combat armor is functional and on standby. May I loan him my Power Armor, Paladin Danse sir?” She knew she was spreading it on thick, but Danse was obviously a stickler for protocol. “He _is_ a senior ranking officer, and I…I mean if I’m with you, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” It couldn’t hurt to flatter him a bit.

 

Danse’s face pinked up endearingly and he cleared his throat. “I don’t see why not. If you hope to arrive safely Brandis, this is the least we can do. I would prefer, of course, to accompany you sir. But it’s your decision.”

 

“How gracious of you to permit an old man his preferences.” Brandis replied dryly. Backhand couldn’t stifle her hiccup of laughter and Danse ‘ _harrumph_ ’ed, obviously embarrassed by her behavior.

 

“Knight Vega and I will busy ourselves with other tasks in the Commonwealth until you make your return to the Brotherhood, Paladin.” Danse said sternly. “You realize that my Knight cannot return without her Armor _and_ empty-handed.”

 

“Understood, Danse.”

 

Backhand fought the excited leap in her chest at the way Danse referred to her as ‘his’ Knight, choosing instead to extract herself from her Power Armor and start strapping on her heavy combat gear. _It’s only because he’s sponsoring you. Don’t be ridiculous_ , she scolded herself while she donned her breastplate and greaves.

 

“My thanks, Knight Vega. When you return, I’ll see that your Armor is waiting in the bay for you.” Paladin Brandis promised, a heavy hand landing on her shoulder. “As well as a frazzled Maxson, if I play my cards right.” The old man grinned, his eyes still sad. “You two can help yourselves to anything in the bunker. I’ve collected some odds and ends over the years, so if you see something you need it’s yours.”

 

“Much obliged, sir.” Backhand said gratefully, struggling to recall what Preston had asked her to pick up in her travels. _Well, we can always use more aluminum_...

 


	5. Weston Water And Oberland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This is update two of two for today. So if you didn't read the previous chapter, I suggest you head back and get it into your eyeballs. That being said, enjoy!

It was supposed to be simple. Clear out Weston Water Treatment. Start a new settlement at Oberland Station. Backhand wrinkled her nose. Partially in irritation, and partially to ward off the foul smell of super mutant.

 

“If I'd known the place was _infested_ I wouldn't have agreed to this shit.” She grumbled to the paladin in Power Armor beside her. “Rob could have been a _little_ more generous with his count, I feel.”

 

Danse chuckled, “Don't try to act tough, Knight Vega. You're still here, right? It's only a couple of super mutants.”

 

“A couple, he says.”

 

A bullet whizzed over her head, interrupting the easy back and forth between the two of them. Danse gritted his teeth and readied his laser rifle. “For the Brotherhood!”

 

They easily picked off five mutants and two hounds, and Backhand pumped her fist in victory when a sixth mutant fell to _Righteous Authority_. However, then she heard something that sent her into a panic. Her whole upper body jutted heedlessly out from behind cover, stealth mods deactivated from her motion while she searched frantically for the source of the beeping. “Wait, Paladin _wait!_ ” She yelled, grabbing hold of his arm as he thundered by and barely missing getting her fingers crushed in his elbow joint. His momentum dragged her along with him and she hurriedly dug her boots into the dirt. “There's a fucking-!”

 

Danse’s huge gauntlet clamped onto one of the many straps on her combat armor and without so much as a _look out_ , he hurled her up over the road and into the deep pond beside the treatment plant. The super mutant suicider screamed in triumph, “ _Die, metal man!_ ”

 

Backhand landed in the pond with an undignified splash, brown water pouring into her nose and mouth as she sank like a rock to the bottom. The following explosion sent shockwaves through the water and Backhand struggled to hold her breath.

 

_Danse, oh God Danse, please be alright!_

 

She finally broke the surface, eyes stinging from the acrid water. “Paladin Danse!” She coughed, hauling herself back up the banking. Smoking chunks of super mutant were scattered _everywhere_ , green flesh burned brown and black. The suit of Power Armor was toppled over on its front. “ _Danse!_ ” Backhand almost fell in her haste to get to the Paladin, skidding to her knees beside the Power Armor.

 

Her Geiger counter started to click loudly.

 

“Shit, Paladin, c'mon! You've dealt with worse than this, you got cooked by a fucking _rocket!_ Don't do this to me!” She pleaded, fighting with the manual release on the back of the suit. The fusion core was shattered, otherwise she could have just half-twisted the handle and popped him out easy. Backhand was stuck doing this the hard way. “Fucking _answer_ me Paladin, _please!_ ”

 

“That's not...soldier-appropriate language, Knight.” A choked cough came from the half-crushed helmet. “Can you get the back open? I can't really...it's very heavy in this thing.” He rose onto his knees with one hand propping him up, leaving Backhand more than a little impressed. “A Brotherhood soldier's conditioning requirements are somewhat rigorous, Knight. Now please. The back.” Despite his reassurances he sounded strained.

 

Backhand tore the plate metal over her knuckles on the rivets around the manual release wheel in her haste to get it undone, breathing a sigh of relief when she finally swung the back plate up out of the way. Danse pulled his head out of his helmet, got to his feet, and promptly collapsed.

 

Backhand swore again, rolling him over. It seemed like his armor had taken the brunt of the impact but he got rattled around inside it like an old world pinball. She'd griped about the lack of _padding_ in their undersuits the very first time she’d seen them, ‘ _stupid military branches, always cutting corners._ ’

 

“Paladin, you still with me?” _Backhand Vega, shittiest Knight the Brotherhood has to offer._ “Why the fuck are all your jumpsuits _dark orange_ and _brown_ , I can't tell whether you're bleeding or not!” She yelled in frustration, mostly to herself. At least that suicider had been the last of the mutants to deal with. “Alright, okay. You're out. Oberland it is.” She sighed when he didn't reply, slinging _Righteous Authority_ across her chest and heaving Danse onto her back. Thank God for all that conditioning work so she'd been able to move her own Power Armor back in the day. She may be in shape but Danse was by no means a small man.

 

Getting over the damn _hill_ to Oberland left Backhand almost spent. Half-carrying, half-dragging him up the station stairs at the end was torment, her calves screaming bloody murder. She dropped him on the bed and left her supply satchel on the ground, rummaging through it for her Stims. Some Rad-X probably wouldn't hurt either, it _had_ been a mini-nuke that exploded next to him.

 

“Knight Vega...” Danse breathed a few minutes after she inserted the Stim needle into one of the ports in his jumpsuit, the Paladin obviously coming back around.

 

Backhand couldn’t stop the way she snapped at him. Now that the terror for her companion had faded somewhat, she was left feeling exhausted and irritated. “What the _hell_ were you thinking? You could have been obliterated by that asshole!”

 

“Where are we?” Danse muttered instead, trying to sit up.

 

“Oberland. Lay the hell back down, stupid idiots don’t get to sit up.” She pushed his shoulder and Danse’s back hit the mattress with a wheeze of rusty springs. “Don’t move.” She growled, using one of her shoelaces to hang the bag of Rad-X from the rafters and then hitching the end of the tubing to the needle still in his arm. Danse grunted, the dazed look on his face making Backhand extremely nervous. “Paladin, stay conscious.” She waved her fingers in front of his face and Danse jerked to attention. “Stay with me.”

 

“I am, Knight Vega.” He retorted even while his eyes drifted shut. “Right here.”

 

“Ah ah, no napping.” She tapped his cheek and his eyes rolled open again. “Stay with me, Danse.” Backhand repeated, a little softer this time.

 

“I _am_ , Knight Vega.” Danse murmured. “Endured worse than this, remember?”

 

“Doesn't mean I'm not going to worry.”

 

Danse closed his eyes just enough to squint at her. “About me? You’re the one with no Power Armor. I’m supposed to be managing _you_ , Vega.”

 

…

 

“Yeah, frickin’ bang-up job there ked.” Backhand retorted. “Coulda’ lost a hand in your elbow joint when you whipped past me like a bat outta’ hell.”

 

Danse noted with a faint flash of amusement that apparently her accent thickened when she was wound up. “My hearing is not in peak condition. Specifically, telling _where_ the sound is coming from can be an issue in my helmet. Proctor Ingram can only tweak it so much.”

 

“That would have been good to know beforehand, Paladin.” Backhand said icily, her motions sharp and angry as she shed her combat armor breastplate. Her gauntlets followed suit, discarded in a pile on the floor. She was soaked to the skin, Danse noticed hazily.

 

His head was pounding again, vision slowly becoming more and more unfocused. “Tell me about what it was like, Knight. Before the…before the war.” Danse slurred, trying his hardest to change the subject and stay awake.

 

Backhand bit her lip, pulling the bedroll up a little higher until it was underneath Danse’s chin. He wasn’t sure whether she intended to simply ignore his question.

 

“It was green.” She said softly, putting his wondering to rest. “There was always _someone_ in your business. People were on top of each other most of the time. I mean, I was in the military so cramped quarters were normal for me, but for civilians…it was pretty hellish. In the mornings once we’d had breakfast, I would take Shaun outside to the front lawn and he would roll around on his little blanket. The neighbors were walking their dogs or mowing the lawn or something, we would all make small talk about the weather.” Backhand stopped talking and sighed heavily, tapping at the bag of Rad-X to keep it flowing.

 

“What is it, Knight?” Danse hated the cold sweat that always broke out when he took Rad-X, but right now it was a necessary evil.

 

“I think a lot of folks were a little intimidated by me.” She theorized. “I mean I was ex-military, and a single mother at that. _Unheard_ of. For a while after I moved in I still had the eyepatch from my discharge incident, then a pair of _super_ dark sunglasses, which definitely didn’t defang my appearance.” Her smile was melancholy and she brought her fingers up to her eye, tapping the area beneath it.

 

The silence stretched on. Danse knew he needed to be patient. It’s not as if he could go anywhere, and it _was_ fascinating to hear about Pre-War from someone who had actually been there.

 

“I told the neighborhood kids that I was a pirate and showed them all how to make newspaper boats and hats so they could be pirates too.” Backhand smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I modified one of my old MLCE packs so I could carry Shaun around the cul-de-sac with me when I jogged. Didn’t have the money for one of those baby carriers or even for a stroller, so the pack had to do. He would put his little head down on my chest and sleep. Wasn’t bothered by all the motion or anything, just like his mommy.”

 

Her pain was still clearly raw, even after however much time had passed. Danse didn’t know what to do, so he wiggled a heavy arm free of the sleeping bag and rested his hand on her own. She squeezed it back wordlessly, her jaw working.

 

When she spoke again, she sounded more steady. “I can’t say that it was _bad_. The environment was safe and quiet. Everyone in Sanctuary Hills looked out for one another. Even if it was more motivated by curiosity and nosiness than an actual desire to help.” Backhand mused dryly. “The milkman couldn’t leave an extra bottle on your doorstep without six other people knowing. So _exactly_ like the military.”

 

“Sounds similar to the Prydwen.” Danse remarked, sick to his stomach a second after he said it. _How many people_ _ **must**_ _know about Maxson and I?_ He thought, swallowing hard to fight the sudden rush of nausea. He hadn’t thought about it at all, more than content with the illusion of privacy one usually maintained in the Brotherhood. The most obvious evidence of their dalliances was the busted mouth Danse _always_ seemed to end up with, and those instances happened far too often for everyone to write it off as Danse just being clumsy or careless when he shaved.

 

_I bumped it._ He grimaced as he recalled his weak explanation back on the Prydwen, the way Backhand had narrowed her eyes at him.

 

Besides, he knew that he’d worn his excuses thin at this point. Trying to explain away the teeth marks Arthur left on his _upper_ _arm_ that one time was more than enough of a chore. He _had_ looked like he’d been savaged by a feral, so at least he could understand the concern to an extent.

 

“Hey, you alright? All the color just dropped out of your face.” Backhand noticed, her brows drawn in worry.

 

Danse nodded, fixing his attention on the guttering lantern beside the bed instead of the wrinkles on her forehead. “Tell me more?” He asked eventually.

 

“I miss the convenience of food. Even with the shortages, there used to be a grocery store on practically every corner.” She sounded wistful. “Shaun hadn’t really started solid foods yet, he was only _just_ beginning to leave the twenty-four-seven nursing program. Not a minute too soon, the little bugger would suck me dry.”

 

“You breastfed your child? Isn’t that-” Danse stopped himself, feeling uncomfortable. Normally breastfeeding was considered incredibly dangerous, for the baby _and_ the parent. But before, when the radiation wasn’t so prevalent…things must have been different. “It’s none of my business, I suppose.”

 

“No no, I get it. I know that nowadays trying to raise a child is tough enough without the added dangers of the irradiated environment. It was simpler back then. Could just unbutton your shirt and go to town, instead of having to unbelt all your armor and find a safe spot so that Junior can get lunch in.” Backhand grinned.

 

Danse flushed a little at her frank speech, sternly telling himself not to dwell on the idea of her with an infant on her knee like some housewife from the pre-war mags. He had no recollection of his own parents, or siblings if he had them. Familial musing was not familiar territory, but it never failed to leave him with a sad ache in his throat. The same ache that assaulted him when he thought of Cutler-

 

Backhand hissed in pain and Danse snapped out of his slide into melancholy, watching with horror while she peeled off her other glove. “Shit, I didn’t even feel that.” She grimaced, spreading her fingers. The sheet metal on her gloves was ripped through in some areas, and it had apparently taken a few healthy chunks out of her knuckles and the backs of her hands. Blood dribbled over her palm and Danse felt… _odd_.

 

“Knight Vega, what happened?” Danse asked in confusion.

 

“I was in such a hellfire hurry to get you out of your gear and the fusion core in your suit was busted. I uh...I don’t really know.” Backhand admitted. “I went panic mode and muscled the manual release as fast as I could, basically.”

 

“The manual…” Danse trailed off as she wiped some dried blood away with the hem of her undershirt. “You need to bind that. Your knuckles-”

 

“Nah, I’ll be fine.” She flapped a bloodied hand at him. “I’ve had worse.”

 

“It’s irrelevant whether you’ve had worse, the fact of the matter is that right now, you’re the one who needs to protect us.” Danse shot back, a little annoyed with her carelessness. “Who knows what could be lurking out there? Everything in the neighborhood must have heard the suicider explosion.”

 

“Ah, okay. Sorry, I’ll…you think a Stim would put this back together? Or should I save those for later?” She asked hesitantly.

 

“Did you take any Stims from the Prydwen?”

 

“No, I didn't want to take any resources from you guys.” Backhand shuffled through her pack, carefully counting out everything that she had. “I only have three Stims left. Wasn't expecting this detour.”

 

Danse cursed under his breath, pushing to sit up by propping his back against the wall. The Stim that she had given him was doing its job, of course, but it would be several hours before he was fit for duty again. _Anything_ could happen in that time. “Come here.” He ordered, disliking the sideways look she gave him. “Let me see your hands.”

 

“H-Hey, I'll probably be fine. It's no biggie.” She protested, putting her left hand into his own all the same and then wincing. Danse, his brain jerkily reminding him that he was probably being a little _too_ rough, nearly dropped her hand when he tried to casually loosen his grip. Alright, maybe he _did_ spend more time than necessary in his Armor. The truth of the matter is that Danse felt like a raw nerve without the comforting weight of plate metal on his body, exposed and too… _soft_.

 

“I'll wrap this.” He decided aloud after several moments of careful manipulation to make sure her fingers weren't broken. Danse flipped open the small pouch by his hip, tugging out a tiny roll of bandaging and a nonstick gauze to dress her knuckles. “What? A Brotherhood soldier is always prepared.” He huffed when he noticed Backhand staring at him.

 

“I gotta' get one of those.” She said, gesturing at the pouch. “Is that included in the suit? Or do they come separate from the requisitions officer?”

 

“I can put in a supply order for you, if you'd really like one. It has...look, there's loops here. You could hitch it to your combat armor.” Danse loosened the bag and showed her the plethora of MOLLE straps on the back, chuckling a little when she clumsily tried to snatch it out of his hands. “Mm, nice try. I've been around Haylen _and_ Rhys. You've got _nothing_ on either of them when it comes to pilfering my supplies, Vega.”

 

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She grinned ruefully. “I really ought to be nice to you. After all, you saved me from pretty certain death.”

 

“I did?” Danse thought back momentarily and then remembered _gauntlet slamming shut on the strap, whichever strap, doesn’t matter, shoulder-ribs, just be enough to hold her weight_ \--He felt his face go hot recalling the unwarranted contact between them. “It was a…reaction. Sometimes I think I move too quickly for my mind to keep up.”

 

“Lucky for me, I guess.” Backhand got to her feet, stretching her arms over her head. She had peeled her Vault suit down and tied the sleeves around her hips again, the fabric pulled tight from her motions.

 

Danse forced his eyes elsewhere, the sweat on his forehead having nothing to do with the Rad-X. _What the hell is the matter with you?_ He scolded himself. _Since when do you ogle women like this?_

 

“Do you think we should stay here tonight, and try to get to your Armor tomorrow?” Backhand asked.

 

“We have to. I’m not leaving it there indefinitely.” Danse cringed as he thought of the state his Armor would be in. “I would like to go after it tonight, but I am…not in peak condition.” God, that stung to say. Whether he liked it or not, it was the truth.

 

“ _Hell_ no, not tonight. I’d rather let you sleep off the Stim and Rad-X, have you in fighting shape bright and early tomorrow morning.” Backhand gave him a look that was actually _fond_ and the ache mounted up in his throat once more. “I’ll take first watch.”

 

“Put your armor on!” Danse barked as she moved to the door, his voice harsher than he had intended. “You--I-I mean, you need to be prepared, Knight.” He tried to play it off, tried to relax his posture a little. He had nearly stood, shaky fingers crushing the rotted windowsill to try and support his weight.

 

She waved her bandaged hand at him, as if to say _hush_ , but still buckled her chest plating back on. Danse knew her moments of insubordination should have been worrisome. Had he gotten too complacent, too used to the less strict requirements of fieldwork?

 

He _did_ let Rhys and Haylen slide. He just couldn’t stand the two of them dancing around each other anymore, it was maddening. Rhys talked a great game, he always had, but Danse would have to be blind not to notice the Knight’s care for their Scribe. It was against regs, of course. Danse knew if anything he ought to put his foot down. As their senior ranking officer, if anything went south between them he would be dragged into it. It was hard to justify it though, when he saw the two of them all curled up with one another.

 

Better that they enjoy themselves now. Life could be so incredibly short.

 

…

 

 

“Hey, what’s your deal with the muties?” Backhand asked curiously. He had gotten a boatload of pre-war nonsense out of her, she figured she had earned at least one question. “You lose one of your own to them or something?”

 

Danse made eye contact and Backhand’s breath caught in her throat. He looked positively worn, _fragile_ , like all the life had gone out of his body. With an expression like _that_ , she expected a great (if sad) story. All she got was a soft “ _Yes_ ,” spoken in a voice thick with emotion.

 

When it became apparent that that was the end of it, Backhand cleared her throat and readjusted the dingy pipe pistol in her hands. She proceeded to methodically count her bullets, trying not to make him feel like she was waiting for the rest. The experience left her shaken. She had thought Danse to be the typical soldier, but it was obvious now that there was much more to him than that. He clearly cared deeply for the wellbeing and safety of each member of his team, possibly _too_ much for him to escape unscathed. He was one of _those_ , she realized, practically a kindred spirit to her dearly departed senior officer Sergeant Cathan. Courageous, firm, the shelter in the storm. A true embodiment of everything a soldier should strive to be.

 

“ _I could not feasibly promise anything…it was not within my power to promise._ ”

 

She noticed Danse pull the bedroll up around his shoulders as if he was cold. There was a sharp wind that blew through the old station on top of the hill, but Backhand, New Englander to the end, barely felt it. She leaned on the worn bannister of the stairs, her eyes squinted against the darkness as the stars brightened overhead.

 

There was more rustling from behind her and she assumed that Danse was doing his best to make himself comfortable on the old mattress, his frame a bit… _large_ for the task. Backhand snuck a peek and was relieved to see him curled up in her bedroll, his back to the wall and eyes closed.

 

She hoped that Paladin Brandis made it to the Prydwen safe and sound (and that her Armor was still in one piece). She _may_ have hoped a little harder that Brandis was already giving Maxson a run for his money. The idea of Maxson being thrown off his game made her snicker quietly to herself.

 

Her good humor faded all too quickly when she recalled that there was nothing keeping them out here and away from the Prydwen once they finished cleaning up Weston. If something shifty _was_ going on between Danse and Maxson, it wouldn’t be long before they were back in the thick of it. She cast another glance at the large man after she heard him mumble something, watching him shift around in the sleeping bag. There was an odd vulnerability to him when he slept, which she remembered all too well from their time in the police station.

 

_The wan sunlight hadn’t woken him as she scribbled her note, but he stirred when she placed the paper down on the floor beside his head. His bedroll was bunched uncomfortably at his elbows and she took a selfish moment to kiss his forehead and then tug the fabric up around his shoulders. It couldn’t hurt, she reasoned with herself. He had hummed in his sleep and snuggled down into the warm embrace of the bedroll. It made it incredibly difficult to leave, even with the two Mr. Handy units cheerily patrolling the courtyard. If something happened…_

 

_Well, it didn’t really bear thinking about. Backhand had the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time she and Danse would meet._

 

…

 

Backhand woke him for his watch shift at almost exactly two hundred hours. She looked fatigued and Danse ignored the protest of bruises on his body in favor of more quickly freeing up the mattress. “Got it warmed up for you.” He yawned, chuckling when she poked him in the ribs.

 

“I bet you did, you big furnace.” She teased, her eyelids already drooping. “Nothing to report, sir. All’s been quiet.”

 

“Carry on, Knight.” Danse saluted out of habit, scooping her combat armor up off the floor and beginning to adjust it to fit his own body. Once he was in some semblance of protective equipment, he snuffed the lantern on the bedside table and took his place at the window. He borrowed _Righteous Authority_ from her, seeing as his rifle was back with his Power Armor. Probably lying on the ground, covered in super mutant gore. Danse grimaced unhappily.

 

His night vision had always been impeccable, with or without his helmet. Danse scanned the landscape for threats, glad that they at least had the high ground. If anything tried to attack, he would know well before they arrived.

 

The Commonwealth was _almost_ peaceful at night. Once all the raiders had bedded down with one another and the ferals had retreated to their holes, a tenuous calm reigned that was usually only broken by clans of ambitious super mutants or radscorpions.

 

Danse rested his weight gingerly on the wall, afraid that it may not be able to support him in its decrepit state. Thankfully it held fast and he relaxed after a moment. His pulse was still quick enough for him to be slightly anxious. It was a normal leftover from using a Stim, but he disliked the feeling; epinephrine and adrenal-sour in his mouth while his heart slammed a tattoo on his ribs.

 

Danse fought the desire to shake himself, certain that Backhand wouldn’t appreciate being woken up by the percussion of poor-fitting combat armor. Though she _had_ mentioned that her son could sleep through anything, “ _just like his mommy_.” He imagined being on the front lines, getting your meager rest wherever you could and going for weeks without seeing a real bed would probably do that to a person. Lord knew he had a hard time readjusting to the quiet safety of the Prydwen after clocking lengthy stints of fieldwork or skirmishes with the Enclave.

 

He had dreamed of Cutler again. Danse exhaled slowly through his nose, fighting the tremble of his hands. Mercifully the dream had faded well before Backhand woke him. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to being shaken awake while still in the grasp of his memories. He shook his head, propping the barrel of _Righteous Authority_ up on the windowsill. He couldn’t go on like this, haunted by the echoes of a man who had ceased to be. True, they had a bond. A bond which Danse had naively believed was unbreakable. But when Cutler had gone missing…

 

Danse was no stranger to horrifying experiences. Centaurs and ferals plagued his nightmares, nightmares which inevitably led to an enormous super mutant hive in the Capital Wasteland.

 


End file.
